


influential

by orphan_account



Series: Latreía mou - Zagreus/Hypnos oneshot collection [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Zagreus' dreams of a certain someone are getting out of hand.EDIT: 2020/02/12 - this fic has been edited, I've added more to certain parts I thought were lacking.
Relationships: Hypnos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: Latreía mou - Zagreus/Hypnos oneshot collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630744
Comments: 59
Kudos: 421





	influential

**Author's Note:**

> Bold text is the narrator speaking.

Zagreus has never seen a fig.

He has _heard_ of the fruit, certainly—from the smattering of whispers of conversing shades, longing for a final taste, or inquiries if these fruits are grown in the Underworld. As far as Zagreus understands it, figs are a boon of the Surface. Cultivated boundlessly by mortals, if Achilles is to be believed. And Zagreus certainly believes him. They’re common on the Surface. Or, were? This winter is a long one. 

_Suited to fit snugly within the hand, a fig is a round morsel coloured purple with a shape similar to an onion,_ Achilles once described it. Said after a moment of deliberation, asked by Zagreus to explain when the fallen hero had mentioned the fruit offhandedly within an anecdote. He’d probably never been asked to describe a fig. 

_Inside, it is replete with small sacks of juice, bursting easily upon the tongue to deliver its exquisite flavour. Good for a quick surge of energy, good to roast. You should have one, once you reach the Surface._

( _“And I’ll bring you one back,” Zagreus replied, “perhaps a whole tree, to start a farm here.” To which Achilles had snorted._ )

If there is any place these fruits can be obtained in the Underworld, then it is most likely within Elysium. Or, perhaps, with Eurydice; Zagreus will have to ask the next time he sees her. 

Currently, the fruit is how he pictured it from Achilles description: round, purple, fitted snugly within the hand of Hypnos.

They’re still within the Underworld. Washed in darkness, coloured the typical dark hues of blue and green. Some old, forgotten corner; a razed temple left to the endless battering of time, with columns broken at the midpoint, stones cracked with spider web patterns just as actual webs decorate the corners of what is left standing. There are pits of endless depth, marring the floor as if an earthquake targeted this place specifically to have craters for the sole purpose for Zagreus to misstep and fall downwards. Amphorae lay seated as petrified denizens, unmoving as to have accumulated what is, quite frankly, a startling accumulation of dust. The images that were once upon the vessels are long erased, with only dull and near imperceptible hints that lay like a corpse within its final stages of decomposition. 

It’s quiet. Except for the _crunch_ that is emitted when Hypnos bites into the fig from where he sits, with his back leaning against one of crumbling walls of the temple.

“Whew-wee!” Hypnos exclaims, expressions of surprise, then indulgence, dancing across his face as he makes sure to chew slowly, prolonging the serving already in his mouth. 

Hypnos makes a noise of gratification, eyes fluttering themselves closed as he seems to refuse to swallow what he already has in his mouth. Zagreus cocks a brow upwards, and finds himself moving as to slump beside his companion, who he is sure is exaggerating his reaction to the fruit. It isn’t a pomegranate, after all. 

“That’s some good stuff,” Hypnos says, finally conceding to a swallow, lifting the fruit for Zagreus to see in full. As Zagreus looks into the pocket exposed from Hypnos’ bite, Achilles’ detailing is brought to the forefront of his mind. The fig certainly is… full. Glistening, definitely moist, a deep maroon and the most lively thing in the whole area. 

Hypnos hums. “Maybe this is why those guys upstairs seem to have so many wars. ‘Cause if I were them, I’d keep these things to myself, I think. I wouldn’t be surprised if some king out there ordered to replace his courtroom to a fig-room, collecting every one of these and creating a feud or two.” 

Hypnos entertains another bite, and Zagreus speaks. “Perhaps that is something you can hint to Lord Ares. Sounds like a potential business venture, that.” 

“You’re on to something, there.” Hypnos replies after a snort, his bite of fig still present within his mouth. As he graces Zagreus with another swallow, Zagreus’ gaze is drawn to the bobbing of Hypnos’ throat as he does so. Zagreus’ attention is forced to the movement of the other’s neck against his will, but his lingering is selfish. 

Zagreus continues in his greed even after the swallow is finished and Hypnos’ throat is its usual pliant self. He can still map out the impressions of Hypnos’ trachea underneath his skin.

“It’d work out for him, he’d get a healthy helping of death and carnage and we could get figs a-plenty.” Hypnos takes another bite, lips curving over the form of the fruit, and Zagreus is taken towards the syrup that escapes the fruit and avoids being taken into Hypnos’ mouth. It trickles from the corner of the other’s mouth, leaving a twinkling trail in its wake. 

Zagreus speaks, eyeing the trail as it continues to curve over Hypnos’ chin. “I thought you were going to hoard them for yourself. Wasn’t being selfish the centerpiece of this plan?” 

“Oh, I am being selfish!” Hypnos quips happily. “I’ll share with you solely because you’re the one who came up with the idea, and if I didn’t divide my riches—why, I’d say that would give you plenty of reasons to stab me in the back, literally!” When Hypnos looks up to look at Zagreus fully, it is then that Zagreus pauses his attention of Hypnos’ apparent mesmerizing messy eating to look the other in the eye as well. “And I dunno about _you,_ but I don’t really like dying, all that much. It’s a pain both literally and metaphorically, I’d rather avoid it when I can. So, I keep you sated, and you won’t feel the need to murder me, it’s all very much for my own self interest.” 

“I’m touched.” Zagreus says, his lips curving into a smirk. The initial glistening of the fruit’s inner workings become second rate to the gleam of Hypnos’ golden irises.

The chariot of Helios is golden; bright and blinding and what brings light to the mortal world. Zagreus hasn’t seen it. Perhaps similar to Hypnos’ eyes. Perhaps just as endearing, but Zagreus has his doubts.

“Here,” Hypnos says, lifting the fig towards Zagreus’ direction. “Might as well start sharing now, so you don’t have a reason to become jealous.” 

Hypnos leans to the side, bumping shoulders with Zagreus, his quilted cape cushioned so that Zagreus feels the need to sleep within it. Hypnos relinquishes the fig, and Zagreus gladly accepts. 

Just as the fig is placed within Zagreus’ open palm, the fruit’s soft exterior undermined by the tickling given by the second-long trace of Hypnos’ fingertips, red enters Zagreus’ vision.

Or, more precisely, it invades his vision. Completely and wholly, as if a giant crushed his head within its palm and the inner workings of his skull were forced outwards through his eyes. The previous image of his companion and the fruit become defiled with crimson, before disappearing entirely. The smell is immediate, the stench of copper is immeasurably heavy as it is foul, but noticeable only because of the stark contrast it is with the previous scent of ash and roast that had been present in Asphodel. Zagreus has been immune to the polluted stench of the House’s blood pool since his conception, the malodor unknown to him as unclean only until he ventured outwards and experienced the further plains of the Underworld and their scents. 

The stench is an unwelcome one, but not because it is unfavourable to any functioning nose, but because he is brought back to the House, and has failed in this run.

Zagreus makes his discontent known in a groan. The warmth and red of the blood is graced away from his body as he stands, and he need not look up to know that his Father radiates an insufferable smugness. He can feel it where he stands, and already readies an eye-roll for when Father inevitably makes a crude remark. He meanders as he does through the shades that trail with him from the Pool of Styx, his mind still clouded with a red haze as it were when he had been submerged. He had a vision, before he awoke, he knows. The impressions of which are blurred at the outlines, like looking through a fog and Zagreus knows dreams can be fickle things unless a prophecy.

A fruit was at work, something rare, something delicious. Something whose fluids gleamed in the limited light within the Underworld, which had accented the pale skin of another.

Zagreus can guess. And he can guess with relative certainty the images of the dream even if he can’t recall them full in their exact forms. 

“I’m up, I’m up!” 

Hypnos wakes with a startle, a regular occurrence just as Zagreus steps closer. As he waits for the other to reassemble himself by moving his eye mask up upon his forehead, Zagreus is greeted by golden eyes emphasized perpetually by the bags that hang underneath them. 

“Oh, darn.” Hypnos says with a quick glance to his list. “That pesky Bone Hydra got you again? I hear if you get rid of its extra heads you’d have a better chance of passing it. That way you have less big, pointy mouths to worry about!” 

Hypnos voice holds its usual cheer, his sarcasm easily misread as arrogant to a lesser person, but Zagreus isn’t so. 

_Hypnos;_ wiry Hypnos with an overrun mess of hair that no one is brave enough to tame, not even the owner himself. Hypnos, enraptured with the temptation of a fig only moments prior. Hypnos, whose throat is decorated with a golden collar now, but can easily be visualized without regardless.

Zagreus doesn’t remember to what extent of undress Hypnos was evidently in, within the vision. And he has to blink to dispel his brain’s sudden speculation, as if the man isn’t _right in front of him_. 

“Less pointy mouths, the better, check.” Zagreus replies, after a moment. “I’m disappointed, really, I thought the extra heads meant extra friends.” 

Hypnos _tsks_ in mock sympathy. He shakes his head slightly while doing so—the phantom traces of the fig juice is still present in Zagreus’ mind. Hypnos still had his cape on him, in the vision, he’s sure, the softness of it isn’t an easily mistaken or forgettable feeling.

“You gotta keep on your toes,” Hypnos quips. “Jump out of the way when its heads try to take a chomp, and give them a good beating when they’re open. You know, kill it before it kills you!” 

“I’ve never thought of that. I’ll keep it in mind.” Zagreus gives a curt nod, thankful for the innumerable wealth of knowledge that Hypnos possesses. 

“Always happy to help!” Hypnos calls after him, as Zagreus makes his exit and trudges towards his room. 

The walk is brisk, but the departure from Hypnos’ presence allows for clearer reflection of the vision prior, and of Hypnos himself. 

Zagreus doesn’t remember exactly when the dreams of _this_ nature started. He’s had Hypnos as a visitor in his dreams before, before the repeats of death, but those had been a unique occasion. Now, the smaller one is a frequent guest, speaking of whatever nonsense he deems interesting, or resting upon Zagreus’ shoulder, hair tickling the underside of his jaw. 

Zagreus doesn’t fully understand what Hypnos gains from giving him such dreams after his deaths; a way to further goad him in a way similar to when he gives “helpful” advice after each run? Zagreus would say its putting salt on the wound, but the dreams are soft in their blow. Soothing, in a way a muscle is released from tension during a massage. 

It must be some way to stroke his ego, otherwise Hypnos wouldn’t bother to provide such frivolous distractions, surely. A jab at his expense but—not unwelcome. 

But what a narcissist. Trying to make Zagreus think him _naked._

* * *

**There had been a time, a mortal age ago, when the Prince had not been so consumed by his vain quest of agony and failure. An impossible truth, but an absurd sincerity still.**

**And at that same time, with the same sense of infeasibility, did the Prince attend to his chores. A shock like a blow to the head, certainly, but a truth nonetheless. And this is one such a memory.**

“Sure, this isn’t your _worst_ idea, infinitely better than the time you thought you could juggle a Wretched Pest’s mines!” Hypnos’ voice is high-pitched, shrill enough to cut through the violent gusts of wind that barrel past them. “And while bad ideas are just your default state of thinking, I still don’t think this was especially bright, you know?”

“What, Cerberus needs his exercise, Hypnos!” Zagreus laughs, his hands clenched tightly to the coarse red fur of his canine mount as Hypnos’ own grip is secured around his waist, unrelenting, lest he fall off the three headed dog. “And you’re the one who agreed to helping me!”

Cerberus lets out both a bark of contentment and a growl of eagerness, as he decimates any and all obstruction before him, whether it be rearranging the landscape or annihilating any unfortunate wretch. 

“That was before I was nefariously tricked into riding the beast with you,” Hypnos scowls with little actual ire. He lets out a small squeak and tightens his hold on Zagreus when Cerberus thinks it prudent to leap an impossible distance over a boiling river.

Zagreus chuckles when he feels Hypnos dig his face into the back of his shoulder, bracing further still against the turbulence only riding a giant three headed dog could give. Hypnos continues, his voice fast and sharp and done in one breath. “I thought a walk meant a relaxing stroll through the miasma of Tartarus as we speculate on how people have died while cultivating the leaves of the infernal flora and— _Zagreus!”_

Despite it being Cerberus that takes a sharp turn to ram head first through a crumbling wall of bones, shattering it into innumerable pieces, it is Zagreus that Hypnos calls with an especially deafening cry. He likewise seems intent on ripping Zagreus’ robe from him with how tightly Hypnos holds onto it. 

Zagreus yields one hand from Cerberus’ fur to give Hypnos’ tight fist a reassuring enough pat, before allowing it to take indefinite stay on the other’s knuckles. “We’re the safest ones here, Hypnos, stop being such a spoil-sport, mate! No one would dare challenge us while on the back of the guardian of Hades!”

He speaks the truth, of course, but Hypnos isn’t in the sharpest state of mind at the current moment, even if Cerberus makes quick work of anything in front of him.

“‘ _Safest!’_ A terrible influence and a liar!” Hypnos scoffs incredulously. “Remind me to hand in my letter of resignation!” 

Zagreus can only laugh at Hypnos’ determined squawking, as he absentmindedly rubs a thumb over the other’s perpetually clenched fist. He can feel the rapid beating of Hypnos’ heart through their clothing, with the smaller one so closely pressed up against him. 

* * *

Asphodel is a forever changing landscape, composed of islands that sway and tumble and sink, of islands that resurface and reshape, crumble and mold anew. The lava is a ravenous thing, taking with it any feast it can, swallowing what it can whole and spitting back parts out. It is constant in its ashen smell, and of its warmth. It’s cozy, if one doesn’t mind the treacherous gaps of molten magma that would eagerly burn them to death. 

Not a particularly enjoyable way to go, and Zagreus speaks of experience, but the lava does bring with it boons that can be harvested with a rod, a little bait and a lot of patience.

Good thing Zagreus has all three. And good thing Hypnos can sleep anywhere. Which includes a smelted embankment of charred earth next to a river of lava, while leaning heavily against Zagreus’ shoulder.

Hypnos’ weight isn’t an unwelcome one; quite the contrary. On the occasion that Hypnos has donated space beneath his cape to Zagreus, it had been pleasant both physically underneath the perpetual snugness and pleasant in the gesture alone. He has blessed Zagreus with draping his cape across Zagreus’ shoulders now, as he lays as a resident in Zagreus’ space. Hypnos’ cheek is cushioned against Zagreus’ shoulder, his breath rhythmic and tingling as it wafts against Zagreus’ bare skin. He’s in Asphodel, yes, surrounded by lava, but it is Hypnos’ presence that gives him the most warmth.

But that presence is soon interrupted, when Zagreus feels a tug on his line. His attention stolen from the other as he sees, and feels, a fish bring down the lure.

“I got one!” Zagreus’ glee ripples from as the ripples within the lava, tugging on the rod.

Hypnos is only given a disgruntled snort, blearily able to peek only one eye open when Zagreus, in his infinite tact, bashes the other’s cheek with his shoulder. 

With a particularly hardy need to reel in the fish, Zagreus has to maneuver the shoulder Hypnos had previously been peacefully resting upon to become an impromptu fist. Hypnos, unconscious moments prior, isn’t given a window to react in time to avoid the assault, and so, adopts the mannerisms of a rooster at dawn: squawking, very loudly. 

He falls over as an undignified heap, and Zagreus’ fishing accomplishment is only slightly dampened by Hypons’ harm. But only slightly, the sight of the human skull bearing fish is enough to make anyone’s worries wash away. Well, maybe not entirely. Hypnos is groaning, now, and when Zagreus turns where he sits, seeing Hypnos cradle his cheek isn’t a particularly flattering review of himself.

“ _Ow,_ that’s a rude awakening, geez!” Hypnos whines. “There’s easier ways to wake me, you know, and nicer ways too!” 

Zagreus winces, a spike of guilt pierced through him more intensively than any blade.

“I’m sorry, Hypnos, I, uh, got a bit excited.” Zagreus says both genuinely and sheepishly. He would move to kneel beside his fallen companion, if Hypnos didn’t already right himself. 

No obvious mark on his cheek, no shoulder imprint discolouring his blue-hued skin. Zagreus’ shame dissipates, but only just.

“But I got a knucklehead!” Zagreus quips, mostly to alleviate his own remaining guilt. He hoists the fish with one hand for Hypnos to see, his other hand finding itself at the small of Hypnos’ back to encourage him closer.

Hypnos takes the invitation, cozying up against Zagreus once more and Zagreus, perhaps absurdly, feels very proud of the fact. 

“Oh, I see how it is. The fish is more important than my well being. It’s fine for you to brutalize me so long as you get a _fish._ ” Hypnos says with an exaggerated pout, and Zagreus cannot help but beam at the sight of it.

Hypnos points to his affected cheek, with a flick of the wrist that holds enough conviction that Zagreus is captivated immediately. “You can make up for violently thrashing my cheek by making it better.” 

Hypnos angles his head, exposing fully his cheek, expectant and confident in Zagreus’ response to his request. Demand. Requirement for forgiveness.

Not that Zagreus hesitates, of course, he gladly gives in to the other’s request. He leans forward, eyes fluttering shut, knucklehead a near forgotten prize, now.

As Zagreus’ lips meet Hypnos’ cheek, the smaller one lets out a small sigh. Light as the sound may have been, it may as well be the only thing Zagreus hears for the rest of his life.

But the sound is drowned out, a familiar swirling replacing it with an all too acquainted violence.

 _Copper,_ and lots of it. Both in stench and taste, so brutal in its onslaught Zagreus thinks Ares would be proud. 

“ _Ugh,_ ” Zagreus grumbles, stepping out of the pool, and shaking off the mess of blood that clings to him still.

As if bathed in the river Lethe, the visions from before are clouded from his conscious mind, nebulous, before the subject makes himself known.

“Wow! Theseus got you again? That’s twice now!” Hypnos cheerily greets, practically summoning flower petals to burst from him in reverence. “You shouldn’t be so sullen at that. Theseus is strong, and handsome… and a hero… and… handsome.” Hypnos _coos,_ he’s _cooing_. Zagreus’ eye twitches without his permission. “Anyway, that must’ve been pretty great, getting vanquished by him. I’m kinda jealous, truth be told!” 

They had been fishing in Asphodel. A knucklehead. Both as a fish and as Zagreus. A cheek that may as well have been pulverized for what the spike of guilt felt like. 

“It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be, mate.” Zagreus mutters, and, sure, he’s a sore loser—Theseus’ boasting was annoying when he fought the man, and it haunts him still. Theseus’ laughing, especially, is loud in his ears currently, and it's especially mocking. And Hypnos has the gall to coo at the man.

 _Cooing,_ Gods. And towards Theseus, no less. 

Hypnos lets out a small giggle when Zagreus vacates. It’s a faint sound, a mere closing off snicker that lasts no more than a second, but it jolts straight through Zagreus like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

It urges him to seek refuge in his room. There’s a tingling, odd sensation in his chest, and he needs to stand around in silence to wait for it to pass. Hopefully. Perhaps he caught a virus from Elysium but—well, that doesn’t make much sense. Elysium is a haven, there is no sickness there… 

He paces. Movement should will away this ailment. He thinks of waves of lava, a fishing rod that sways in his hand, and a white bed of hair that had been resting against him.

Fishing, with Hypnos; it isn’t an unfavourable thing. And Hypnos probably wouldn’t decline an offer, if he had free time to do so. An excuse to sleep, if anything, not that Zagreus would mind any. The feeling of Hypnos leaning against him in slumber is not one that is unfamiliar to him, Hypnos having done so on multiple occasions before but—It had been different, in the vision, somehow.

Infuriatingly different, as Zagreus’ eyebrows crease in a vain attempt to rationalize it. Like a word on the tip of his tongue but out of reach nonetheless, the distinctness of it was... Well. Distinct. 

He had leaned in, afterwards, for some reason. The image of Hypnos’ exposed cheek, leaned away as to give full access, laid bare except for a thread of hair that had dangled across, that even now as a dream, beckons him to tuck behind Hypnos’ ear.

What was it he did when he leaned forward, before he awoke?

* * *

  
  
**Perhaps if the Prince was more intuned with his emotions like an adult, he would have realized that Sleep’s affectionate cooing of the man who had slaughtered him elicited a sense of jealousy.**

_“Jealousy?”_ Zagreus balks, offended, looking upwards, willing to see the owner of the omnipotent voice. “I’m not— _jealous_ of _Theseus._ And I know my emotions well enough, thank you very much. Now kindly shove off.” 

Insulted, in his own home, in his own _room._ The nerve of some disembodied, rule-breaking voices.

**It would do the Prince some good to further investigate that thrumming in his chest, and what it might mean, exactly.**

“Ugh.” Zagreus lifts his arms in annoyed defeat. “I don’t have time for this.” 

And he doesn’t. Mystery feeling be damned, he still has the Surface to go to. 

  
  


* * *

**Even determined on his never ending quest of disappointment, the Prince needs a moment of rest before diving head first into continual disaster. And Sleep is a well enough companion as any, who brings with him his own set of hurdles.**

Shades linger at every corner, but this evening (morning?) few dawdle in the lounge currently. It almost gives off an illusion of privacy for Zagreus and his companion.

Zagreus takes a swig from his tankard, the ale transverses downwards his gut as a fireball, and as he settles his cup on the table between them, Hypnos speaks.

“You ever hear of a little place called Egypt in a big place called Africa?”

“Geography isn’t exactly my forte. Unless you want to know the exact location of all of Charon’s stalls that are littered throughout Tartarus, I’m your man.” Zagreus replies. The drink is still making its presence known inside him, and he grimaces. He’s doubtful this is the type of drink Dionysus curates. “But to answer you question: Egypt sounds familiar. The mortals, our mortals, the Greeks, consort with them, do they not?” 

“You know it.” Hypnos, at the very least, seems to be affected by his drink as well, with how he attempts to quell a burp. “Egypt’s an old place. Probably older than Greece, if you can believe it. I haven't met or seen the Egyptian gods but Zeus definitely has been in contact, I’ve heard. A guy named _Ra_ , or Re? Whatever, Ra, their king—or queen? Probably both, now that I think about it— _Anyway:_ Ra. He’s spoken with Zeus.”

A well enough introduction as any, to the king/queen of the Egyptians. Zagreus may not have extensive knowledge of the outside world and the mortals beyond his own, what with being killed any time he attempts to venture outwards, but he does know Egypt is a venerable place. Spoken highly of by the shades who were once academics, a place both in a desert and an oasis, as far as he understands it. 

“What about?” He asks. Anything about his own kin that live outside is of interest, doubly more so when it concerns denizens of another foreign place.

“No idea, the grapevine hasn’t extended that far yet. Probably some kingly business about their mortals trading stuff with one another. Bureaucratic stuff that puts me to sleep better than any lullaby.” Hypnos traces the rim of his cup with a finger idly, leaning forward. “Ra has a falcon head.”

Falcon. Falcon head. Head of a falcon. Zagreus does not know what that is.

“Falcon…” Zagreus works the word in his mouth. “Uh, what’s that?” 

“Type of bird.” Hypnos says simply. How many types of birds could there possibly be? Zagreus knows of eagles and phoenixes, and now there are falcons? “Guy works with the sky and sun so that makes sense—Wait, you don’t know what birds are, do you?”

Denizens of the true sky, them. Zagreus shrugs. “Can’t say I do. Are they similar to bats?”

Hypnos takes another swig of his drink, considering with a hum and crossing his legs in his seat. He leans on one elbow, head supported with his hand. 

“In a way. Just picture it with a sharp sword for a mouth and daggers for feet.” Well, that’s horrifying. “Birds are like, smaller phoenixes, without the tendencies of spontaneous combustion.”

It feels as though he’s given a new description each time he asks. Phoenixes, but smaller. Except not phoenixes, as they’re not as colourful or have the element of flame and die once. Flyers, but then sometimes swimmers, or landlocked entirely. Birds, but also called eagles or falcons. Are all mortal animals so nebulous? What a headache it must be to remember them all.

Zagreus leans back into his seat. “And mortals have to deal with that, as common fauna? Doesn’t sound pleasant.” 

“It’s why they eat them. Good eating and pest control.” Hypnos quips. “Anyway, you think there’s an Egyptian version of me? I know there’s a god of death there, his name is Osiris. But he doesn’t have an animal's head? He’s just green. Not like, Artemis green, like. _Green_. Their Underworld chauffeur is someone called Anubis. Or Anput. Inpu? He’s got a ‘jackal’ head.”

It’s like every second word is a new one.

“And that is…?” Zagreus asks, brow quirked.

“A dog? I think? Weirdly enough, I think Hermes is friends with the guy.” And now _dogs_ are called _jackals._ The ride never ends. He’s given an unprompted image of Father, except Cerberus’ heads sprout from his neck than his actual head. His grimace is enough to dispel the horrifying image, but he can tell it’ll be something that lingers at the most inopportune times.

Hypnos rolls his shoulders, pursing his lips. Zagreus thinks he’s attempting to discern the drink he swallows until he speaks again. He continues to outline the rim of his mug, but this time with more apparent concentration. “Speaking of death, you, uh, you see Thanatos around? He’s back and all, but you know, he may as well still be off gallivanting in the mortal realm. Everytime I get the chance to go looking for him he’s just… not around! I must have _lousy_ luck.”

Hypnos smiles and delivers his line as usual; both sardonic, but underlined with… a certain oddity. Champion of snark that he is, the words he speak are not anything usual. But the teetering of his voice, the gaze that glazes over as he looks into his near empty cup, certainly is.

Oh, he must _really_ be affected by his drink. 

“But, y’know, he’s busy. _Busy busy!_ Mortals have a tendency to die. Like you. Even more than you, if you can believe it. It, uh, it keeps good ol’ Thanatos real busy, you know. You two used to go clear up wretches all the time. You still do that?” 

Yeah, he’s definitely affected by his drink.

Perhaps Zagreus should’ve asked more about birds. The air has shifted, no longer a cordial sense of informality between two partially drunk friends, but instead something more stifled. 

“...Occasionally… When he makes himself known to me.” Zagreus says, telling the truth. Thanatos’ appearances are a welcome challenge and a welcome reunion, when Zagreus is able to get the other to stay long enough. Which, well, isn’t often, but it’s good to see him. The only person more flighty than Thanatos is Hermes. Oh, and Dusa.

Hypnos raps the table with his fingers, nodding, though the general air he gives isn’t one of satisfaction from the answer. “Oh. So he _is_ back. Like actually, and I didn’t just dream that. You two are fighting wretches like you usually do. Right. Right! That’s great, I’m glad he’s hanging out with someone. Might as well be you, you’re good company.”

Zagreus isn’t exactly the posterboy for stable familial relationships, though he knows the relationship between Thanatos and Hypnos are fundamentally different than his and Father. Hypnos loves his brother, that much is certain to anyone who asks. And Thanatos will usually disappear as an answer to the same question.

_So._

“Thanks… You are too, Hypnos. Maybe I can—?” Zagreus means to ask if he should lend his family counseling services by passive aggressively telling Thanatos to spend time with his brother, when said brother speaks. 

“I just—I just think it would be very neat if he just. Talked to me. Maybe—Maybe tell me that I’m annoying, that he can’t stand me, that he’d rather get skewered than be seen with me. You know, explain a little, other than refuse to acknowledge my existence. I’d be pretty happy with that!”

Zagreus blinks. 

This isn’t his forte. His relationship with his Father is proof enough of that. And Hypnos revealing a rare moment of, _dare he say,_ vulnerability, is almost uncanny. But Zagreus has never been one to let the soured relationships of others pass him by, so obligated he is to help when he is able, as it would be irresponsible for him not to. Especially among those he cares about.

Zagreus leans forward, reaching out before the action dies in infancy. He isn’t sure what he would’ve done, then. Hold Hypnos’ hand? Rub his thumb on the other’s knuckles? Can he do that? He hasn’t earned that.

He doesn’t know. But the want to be closer is one that grows steadily stronger, and Zagreus clenches and unclenches his hand in a vain attempt to calm it. Hypnos is still, paradoxically, smiling, though it doesn't reach his eyes and his tone is obvious in his frustration. 

“How can he even be that busy? Mortals sleep, arguable more than they _die._ A mortal can only die once, but sleep? A single human can go through twenty-six _years_ of sleep! Nine thousand four hundred and ninety days! Two hundred thousand hours!” 

Hypnos finishes with a hard slump into his seat, hard enough he almost pushes his chair over with his weight and force. In any other context, Zagreus would have snickered at that. They would have _both_ snickered at that, but Hypnos sits with that usual smile he's rarely seen without, yet marred with a hollowness that betrays him. And something within Zagreus clenches at the sight of it.

“Hypnos…” Zagreus says with a sigh.

He’s not sure what to say next. His thoughts aren’t being cooperative, and there’s still a large and obtrusive message firing off a _“get closer"_ sign that is difficult to ignore.

Thanatos must not realize what his absence does to his brother. Zagreus concedes to giving him the benefit of the doubt, Thanatos would not be so intentionally malicious, least of all with Hypnos. Surely. Thanatos has mentioned, in his roundabout way, that he's thankful for Zagreus being close to Hypnos, so obviously he _cares_ in some capacity. He's just completely inept in showing it.

Zagreus feels like he should pick a side, though he knows, rationally, if he were to actually do that, Hypnos would say side with Thanatos and Thanatos would say to side with Hypnos. 

Hypnos scrunches his face, speaking before Zagreus can. “Darn, that’s embarrassing.” he says. “You should really tell me to shut up, sometimes, you know? Before I open my mouth and my foot just goes in. Would save us both a lot of grief!” 

His regular cheer is creeping back in, and remarkably soon. And Zagreus feels so pointless in this entire exchange, that guilt makes itself known in his gut. He has to say _something,_ before Hypnos inevitably changes the subject entirely and Zagreus' input becomes too little too late.

Zagreus' speaks, attempting the cool the air between them. “Thanatos prefers his solitude. That’s a fault of his own, not yours. And you’re clearly better at your job, if you’re able to sit here with me.”

Hypnos sits motionless, but still appears, somehow, smaller than he usually is. The table between them isn't large, Zagreus could still reach out, cup Hypnos' cheek. Smooth skin with dimples. Very cute dimples. Rub a thumb across that cheek.

"And for what it's worth, I think you're great company, always." Wait. Stop. Don't be selfish. Stop thinking about his dimples. "And, _and_ , Thanatos doesn't think that about you. He would've said so, if it were the case." 

Zagreus has no idea if that even helps. Thanatos has been curt with him before, so he believes it to be true. Hypnos is proficient in keeping his face exceptionally still, as he does now. As if he fell asleep with his eyes open, which _is_ a possibility.

"But it isn't right of him to leave you so stranded." Zagreus continues, sincere. "Even if work keeps him so engaged, he should make the effort. I'll speak with him, if you want." 

Hypnos, uncharacteristically, doesn't speak right away. Though the corners of his mouth rise, ever to slightly, and crinkle the corner of his eyes. When did Zagreus' heart get louder?

“Anyway!" Hypnos starts, suddenly, slapping his hand on the table so abruptly that Zagreus jumps. "About Anubis: He’s an embalmer. You know what an embalmer is?”

Ah, and there it is. The topic change. Done as gracefully as Hypnos does anything. Zagreus takes another swig of his drink and leans once more into his seat. He'll have to talk to Thanatos about this regardless, the next time he sees him.

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me, as you’re just a wealth of knowledge today.”

* * *

“If you wish a battle with the King, you must first best me.” 

Well, that's rude. A battle fee before Theseus? Trying to drive home the point that Theseus’ chariot has a knack for running Zagreus’ over and snapping every vertebrae in half. And the man is using his _friend_ as his bouncer. At least the Bull of Minos is actually tolerable, though, what he sees in Theseus is the greatest mystery of this age. Any age.

Zagreus rolls his shoulders, readying himself to take the Bull by the horns (though, hopefully not literally), when, completely involuntarily, he thinks of Asterius’ signature.

A sun dried clay tablet with the inscription carved on its surface, a sturdy piece of memorabilia that would last indefinitely and, most importantly, would be in Hypnos’ hands.

Huh.

Hypnos had asked for Asterius’ autograph, once. On Zagreus’ first encounter with the heroes and his subsequent first failure. He took as a joke, a poke at his death by their hands, but, well, who isn’t an actual fan of the Bull of Minos and the Hero of Athens? Even if the latter turned out to be insufferable, he’s still undeniably skilled (and a dreadful hard hitter). 

“Wait,” Zagreus says, before he can properly think on it, while lowering Varatha. “Wait, hold on, allow me the privilege to ask you something before we fight each other into oblivion?” 

Asterius flares his nostrils, letting out a snort. “I’ve told you already. I won’t let you saunter past me, even if you say ‘please.’”

Perhaps there’s merit when others call him impulsive. 

“No, no, I know. I wasn’t going to ask that.” Zagreus shakes his head, shifting from one foot to the other, sense slowly creeping back and asking why he’s about to ask this to a minotaur whose content in killing him about his autograph. “Listen, it’s for a friend. Will you at least entertain that, mate?” 

Asterius wearily stares at him, clearly not confident in Zagreus’ sincerity. 

The minotaur flicks an ear, and speaks with a resigned tone. “Speak, then. What is it you wish to ask for your friend?” 

It's now or never, truly. “Um. I don’t suppose I could have your autograph, right? It doesn’t have too fancy or anything. I have a friend who counts himself as a big fan of yours and he’s been feeling down lately and…”

Zagreus’ determination had already whittled at the start, even if Asterius was willing to listen. That confidence wanes further still as the bull merely stares, with no expression, without blinking, and eyes more petrifying than a gorgon’s.

His request eventually peeters out entirely into its premature death. Asterius continues to stare, and Zagreus thinks, at least, he’ll die here as a good enough friend. Hopefully. He did try, though he’s not sure if Hypnos will believe him.

Zagreus sighs. He readies his stance as Achilles had taught him, muscles taut in preparation to dodge a charging bull.

It doesn’t come. Yet. Asterius says something first.

“If you best me here, you may have your prize for your friend.” 

The gratitude that Zagreus feels is so potent, that he almost gets gored. 

  
  


* * *

Hypnos jolts awake, just as Zagreus approaches. He lets out his routine shocked gasp, and pushes his eye mask back to his forehead. 

_Golden eyes_ _—_ same eyes that had crinkled at the corners when Zagreus boasted his strength in a tango with a Slam-Dancer, Hypnos a safe enough distance away and an enthusiastic audience, in his previous dream. 

( _“If you die, I’ll kill you myself!” Hypnos called, just as Zagreus dashed from a splintering bomb._

 _“And what a heavenly way to die!” Zagreus replied, charging at his foe, the most invigorated he’s ever felt._ )

Zagreus shakes his head to dispel the hazy images of the dream before, and, ironically, it is Hypnos himself that makes his head clearer. 

“Poison, eh?” Hypnos winces, and Zagreus feels the same. “Yeah. that’ll knock anyone down. Maybe drink an antidote beforehand?”

Zagreus gives a smirk. “Nothing parches the throat more than slowly dying. Thanks for the tip!” 

Hypnos gives an exaggerated bow. “Anytime.” 

Zagreus replies with his own curt nod, before he rearranges himself to stand straighter, hands clasped behind his back as he summons the gift in his palm.

“Choose a hand, mate.” 

He’s giddy. He knows it shows on his face, the smile clearly cemented into him and Hypnos responds with clear interest back. 

“Oh, is it my lucky day?” Hypnos drawls, tapping his quill against his board. “Mortals celebrate the day they were born with gifts, each and every year! Is today the day I was created?” 

Zagreus shrugs. “Close enough.”

Hypnos relinquishes his quill to his board, pursing his lips in feigned concentration. He further accentuates the facade when he cups his chin.

“I choose the hand that has whatever you have you wish to gift me.” 

“Smart choice, mate!” 

It’s a neat slab of pottery, with black paint. While more fragile than a clay slice, it's definitely prettier. Asterius, despite being, well, a bull, has surprisingly delicate script. 

Hypnos squints at it when Zagreus presents it. And Zagreus delights, fiercely, when Hypnos’ eyes widen and he quickly scrambles to secure the shard. “Wait. Wait, _wait!_ This is—The Bull of Minos’ _autograph?_ I—are you serious?” 

Hypnos’ eye are wide and shining, twinkling as gems and his expression says it all: awe, amazement, surprise, gratitude.

_(It’s a similar expression Hypnos held when Zagreus defeated the Slam-Dancers and struck a pose with his sword poised against his shoulder. Zagreus was smug, proudly so, as he knew he had given an impressive show. And Hypnos greeted him with undiluted excitement, eyes wide, breathless, as if he had just danced in a fight instead.)_

Zagreus shrugs, nonchalant. “Of course, mate! You asked, so I delivered.”

“Who are you, Hermes?” Hypnos inspects the autograph at every angle, eyes so near the surface of the pottery that he may blind himself. “I—I can’t believe you actually got his autograph. Did you have to get chopped to bits with his axe for this—Wait, no, poison got you. You can’t have gotten this for _me._ ”

“What are you talking about? Of course it’s for you. Why bother giving it to you otherwise?” 

Hypnos shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Pulling a cruel prank? Wanting to dash my dreams and trust into dust?” He cradles the gift, thumbing softly the black, elegant print. His eyes scrunch when he asks his next question. “What do you want from me, exactly?”

No one in this damn house knows how to take a _gift._

“ _I don’t want_ —Actually…” Zagreus starts, and Hypnos perks. “Now that you mention it… I want you to say ‘thank you.’” 

Hypnos groans with an eye roll. Blight, if so determined to pay it back, Zagreus will have him change Cerberus’ water dish.

(Or, maybe, explain the dreams.)

Hypnos deposits his treasure delicately into the infinite void that is the storage space within his cape. He speaks next as if he faces a great burden. “You want that delivered verbally or is there a special way you want it done?” Then a smirk. “I mean, I _could_ get on my knees, though it’s a little crowded here…”

Zagreus’ shock is so sudden he may as well as manifested a violin to pluck its strings violently as a soundtrack. “Wha—?! _Hypnos!_ ” He whisper-shouts, just as a the other sniggers. “Only you could be so asinine. I don’t know why I even bother with you.”

“Me neither!” And that statement is spoken far too cheerily for the baggage it brings with it. Hypnos speaks again before Zagreus can even process it. “Seriously, want do you want?” Then, a change: Hypnos smile twitches, which may as well be wavering drastically. It immediately puts Zagreus on edge as a result. Hypnos leans forward, as does Zagreus, and the smaller one whispers almost conspiratorially. “You… you don’t want me to put the House to sleep again, do you? Your Dad will literally kill me _dead_ dead.” 

“ _No._ no.” Zagreus shakes, both as a response and as a way to quell his mind’s unhelpful envisioning of Hypnos making true on the previous promise. “I literally just want you to say ‘thank you’ like a normal person. Maybe frame it too. That’s all.” 

Hypnos, on the verge of replying, is unceremoniously cut off. And whatever jolly mood Zagreus was in before is instantly dampened by the owner of the voice.

 _“Stop_ disturbing my record keeper, boy, he’s behind enough in his duties as is. Isn’t that right, Hypnos?” Father booms, practically shaking the House as he does so. 

There’s a specific, very unique sense of frustration that Father brings, and Zagreus feels it at full force at the current moment. 

Hypnos, lacking any sense of self-preservation, replies as he turns to face Father with a sweeping bow. “You can’t rush quality, Master. Only the best for you!” 

Zagreus wants to respond as well, the need to defend Hypnos’ honour a wild untamed thing on the tip of his tongue that he should, ideally, reign in. But he doesn’t need to, when Hypnos lays a hand on his shoulder, effectively washing away his previous ire and snark immediately. 

“You have my _deepest_ thanks, O Prince.” Hypnos drags out in mock reverence. He pats Zagreus’ shoulder, and Zagreus knows that’ll be the best he’ll get out of the smaller one. 

* * *

**There had been a time, both an age ago and still a current occurrence, wherein the Prince would indulge Sleep in his many remedies. Altered states, such as when one slumbers, fashioned from the herbs found both on the Surface and Underneath. Concoctions that could render any being into an agreeable airhead.**

**But no matter the skilled alchemist, Sleep has not, and still not, remedied a fashionable name for the Prince. For he is the one to turn ‘Prince’ into ‘Zagreus,’ and then ‘Zagreus’ into numerous butcherings of the name in the guise of ‘nicknames.’ This is one such memory.**

Maybe it would be sensible to ask, precisely, what’s in brew Hypnos makes, but, well. _‘The finest herbs that there are’_ will suffice for now, as the blend is too good to be malicious in any way. Not that Hypnos would be intentionally malevolent, Zagreus knows that, he wouldn’t hurt a butterfly, what with his tongue being his only weapon.

Mischievous, though, maybe.

“How you holding up, Zag-meister?” Hypnos muses, stretched as a snake along the nicer sofas within a secluded area of the House. Zagreus lies opposite him in a similar position, the two separated by a small pit of embers that heat and cook a wide saucer held by a metal grate over it. From the bronze-coloured bowl, vapours sprout and drape the air between them, greater than any vapour-bath. The origin of the vapours is one of Hypnos’ many treats; he’s thrown his mixture to the dish and from it, only seconds past before the soothing smog flew from it. As is with any of Hypnos’ creations, the result is Zagreus’ body melting into the couch, his mind freed from burden and a spirit lifted. He lays with eyes closed and a mind open.

Hypnos’ words also have their regular effect.

“Worse, now, since you called me that.” Zagreus replies, peeking one eye open to look at his companion with as much as an unimpressed look he can manage. 

Hypnos makes a flippant noise that he accompanies with a dismissive wave. “Everyone’s a critic, Zagster.”

Defamatory little _dog_. Hypnos, likewise affected by his vapours, does not react in time to avoid nor properly block the cushion Zagreus mercilessly throws at him, heedless of the still burning embers between them. Hypnos makes the desired undignified yelp when Zagreus’ projectile hits its mark. Zagreus, triumphant from his accomplishment and elated from the smoke he breathes in, cannot help but giggle. And it is infectious, as Hypnos becomes contaminated and sprouts his own giggle fit. 

Through the sniggering that is reminiscent of a witch’s cackle, Hypnos is able to get something more resembling of words out. “No fighting in the House, Zaggy!”

The cushion is thrown back, as if begging to be lit aflame from the embers that is, indeed, still burning between them. Zagreus retains better reflects, and is able to block what would have surely been his impending doom.

“With slander such as that, I think Father will make an exception!”

* * *

  
  


The seasons of Elysium mimic those on the Surface. It’s winter, both here and above, but Zagreus knows the winter that the living currently face is an especially harrowing one, one he’ll soon enough experience in full when he reaches it. The taste of it alone, when standing before Father, was enough to freeze the flame of his feet right off. 

It isn’t exactly an aspect of the Surface he’s looking forward to, but he’ll manage. But, that is later, now is now; the winter that caresses Elysium is a gentle, calm one, with no worry for frostbite or storms. Snow only sprinkles from the sky as descending stars as they dissipate before they hit the ground; the foliage is still its striking green and characteristic of the highest health. The winds of the south and west are kind, here.

They lie beneath the canopy of an apple tree, the awning it gives wide and spectacular as an oak, with fruits supple, bright and eternally ripe. There’s no need for shelter in Elysium, but Hypnos prefers the shade and any dark corner, so beneath a tree, that Zagreus can only describe as being _“definitely rare and expensive,”_ they lay beneath. The light that shines through the gaps of leaves is turquoise in colour, reminiscent of the blue present in the water of a shallow beach. He’s seen mosaic reconstructions of such seashores, and he knows it’ll be a view he’ll luxuriate within once he reaches the Surface. But this is a good substitute. Especially with Hypnos cradled into the crook of his arm as they both lay as sunbathing cats beneath the shade of this tree. 

Hypnos’ head lays on Zagreus’ chest, his breath kissing at his skin. The smaller one is pressed tightly against his side, arm tossed lazily over the larger body with fingers that twitch occasionally as Hypnos dreams whatever it is that sleep incarnate dreams of.

(Zagreus asked, once, and the answer was a cheerful _“Anything and everything, duh! If you can think it, I’ll dream it.”_

Nowadays, the answer is a soft _“You."_ ) 

Devoid of any worries, any time constraints or obligations, Zagreus has never felt so content to sit so idle. Zagreus has always felt best when moving, but Hypnos’ general presence is a tranquil anchor. It helps, too, that Hypnos has draped his cape over Zagreus when he laid down, without being asked. His cape can bring any mortal into a deep slumber, and Zagreus likewise, as he feels his eyelids beginning to droop. 

He sighs, content. He wonders if the two of them will stay here for the next century. It wouldn’t be an unfavourable outcome. He turns his head to the side, maneuvering so he can place he lips to the crown of Hypnos’ head.

And then, blue becomes red. A dark, terrible red, a shade that definitely should stay within a body instead of out of it. 

He’s floating. In the blood pool, yes, but his mind is away from him as if drifting on the cloudy streams of Lethe. 

He probably was near Lethe. In the vision—he was in Elysium. They were.

_A collage of a blue infinite sky decorated with the hearty green of an impossible tree. A cushioned ground, an inviting meadow, the body of another that was his to explore._

He had been clobbered by satyrs. He remembers the smell of rot and disease brightly, infinitely worse than the blood pool he currently steps out of. But the feeling before, of serenity beyond words and companionship that settled so, so deeply inside him, takes precedence over the fact he’s died again. It’s always an annoyance, stepping out of the pool and into the House again. But the journey has been alleviated from its usual heaviness, and Zagreus knows who to thank for that. 

“Clearly, you aren’t the pest control we need.” Hypnos’ smile is pleasant. “But those satyrs are a troublesome, frustrating bunch, aren’t they. Why, I think they annoy your Dad more than you do!”

The gold plating Hypnos wears seem especially polished today. His cape is velvety and a near impossible lure to ignore. It had been a different world entirely, being snuggled underneath the garment with Hypnos by his side.

He’s staring. Those dimples are _really_ cute.

“That’s hard to believe.” Zagreus manages, after dislodging the sudden cotton in his mouth. Hypnos’ eyes glint as the gold he wears. The further reaches of the House are muffled in sound, as if Zagreus submerges his head beneath water. Hypnos’ hair is just as delicate as the cloud streams of Lethe.

Zeus’ beard, he’s _still_ staring. Sweat is beginning to accumulate on Zagreus’ back. Hypnos’ smile falters, but only minutely; it's only because Zagreus is staring as a gorgon that he’s even able to notice it.

“You hit your head? You’re… Looking a little loopy.” Hypnos asks, with a tilt of the head. He doesn’t mask the perturbation from his voice or expression, with a quirk of his brow. Zagreus usually takes his leave soon after their short exchanges after each failure of his, so his lingering is odd. His silent, tongue-tied lingering is especially odd. 

He had hit his head. Or, technically, he had been bludgeoned to death. He’ll blame that for his ludicrous behaviour instead of the lingering image of Hypnos laying on his chest. He has to internally scream at himself to get his legs to free themselves from their stiffness. 

“It’sniceseeingyouHypnos.” He says in a hurried slur, abruptly turning on his heel to _flee._ He only catches a glimpse of Hypnos’ confused blinking when he does so, his embarrassment infinitely worse than his previous death.

“Uh, well, I’m here to stand around and look pretty. Thanks for the glowing review!” Hypnos calls out after him and Zagreus needs to will himself not to run like a criminal fleeing the scene. 

In the safety of his room, door securely shut, made doubly _sure_ its shut, Zagreus buries his face in his hands. His face is lit more aflame than his feet. He can feel the blaze of his humiliation radiate brightly from his face and _owls of Athena, what was that?_

The Pool of Styx should have consumed him just then. What a disgrace. The want to throw a few rounds at Skelly is strong, just to distract his body and mind from the still lingering warmth of Hypnos’ body against his, and the gentle embrace of his cape—

He must have a fever. The satyrs commune and dwell with vermin. His face is hot, and his mind is sullied with—with irrational things. 

He should take a nap. Rest. Build his strength both in body and in mind. 

(But he’s a weak man. Perhaps—the dream will continue, if he sleeps.)

* * *

Nectar is a precious, and delicious, trophy. 

He feels obligated, almost, to give Hypnos it because of his incoherent stunt of being a buffoon, after his rodeo with the satyrs. An apology for indiscriminately handing out second-hand embarrassment.

(But it isn’t really _his_ fault. If _someone_ would let up with confusing dreams, then Zagreus would have a clear mind. 

But if Hypnos is willing to play this game, then Zagreus will too. Of course. This would be easier if Hypnos would make any sort of remark of the visions he’s bringing. Anything. Any snide comment would do, really, at this point, or else Zagreus may concede that he’s going insane.) 

"You shouldn't have." Hypnos cooes as he inspects his gift. "Drink it with me to soothe the ache of your death from the nibbling mouths of carnivorous butterflies?" 

"You honour me, mate." Zagreus accepts with a gracious bow. 

He should realistically decline, continue further his quest, allow Hypnos the luxury of enjoying his gift. But Zagreus finds that he is a man of weak will when it comes to Hypnos smiling, dimples present ( _ah!_ ), with calf-eyes shooting through him. It should probably be concerning, but he’s going to spend downtime with Hypnos, with a bonus of drinking nectar, so he can’t _really_ complain. 

“You should die more often, if this is the stuff you’ll bring back. What’s a little disembowelment when you get some of _this._ ” Hypnos praises, the two in their usual seats within a corner in the lounge. Hypnos finishes his applaud by talking a long gulp of the nectar, smacking his lips in approval when he is finished. “ _Mwah._ ”

“Fashion taking a stroll down around Tartarus, then, Hypnos?” Zagreus asks, legs crossed as he takes the outstretched offering of nectar from Hypnos and taking his own swig. The sweet liquid goes down smoothly, invigorating every vein within his body as benign fires through his being. “ _Ah._ I’ll find you the best disembowlers.”

Zagreus jests, obviously, but the idea of merely strolling (sans disembowlers) through the infernal plains of oblivion with the man he is seated across? Not bad.

“Oh no, I would hate to distract you from your passions of dying.” Awfully considerate. Hypnos accompanies the glib with a wave. “What if your friends are taken by little ol’ me instead? You wouldn’t have an express way back home.”

“Oh, then I’m definitely taking you with me, then, mate.” 

A good luck charm _and_ good company, then. Zagreus relinquishes the nectar back to its rightful owner.

“I love being threatened!” No normal person's eyes should be glinting like that. “I can already hear it, _‘The Kidnapping of Hypnos,’_ you should pitch it to Orpheus.”

Zagreus lets out a bark of laughter. “Personally, I prefer the title _‘Lost in the Nectar.’_ ”

“Does have a ring to it, doesn't it.” Hypnos lazily swirls his drink in its glass. “Lacking the drama, though, I think. Really need to draw in an audience, gotta spice up the palate and have them salivating at the mere title alone.” 

“And the best way to draw in the masses is to have you be a damsel in distress?” Zagreus quirks a brow. It certainly… is an image. He’ll have to come to that image at a later date. “I think that reveals more about your character than being indicative of good storytelling.” 

“Everyone could do with some jazzing up. Why not make it extra dramatic? You could zig-zag as much as you want during this story.” Hypnos goes to take another gulp, before he stops just as his lips meet the glass. He abruptly retracts, an expression of deep concentration surfaces. “Wait. Zig-zag. Zag. Hold on, I’m having an epiphany here.” And he certainly looks he is. Zagreus has an idea what is about to befall on him. 

Hypnos glows, practically. _‘Answers to the universe’_ type glow. “What’s your thoughts on being called ‘Zig-Zag’ indefinitely? Don’t answer that, I’m going to call you that anyway.”

He’s dreadfully proud of himself. Awfully smug with a stupid joke, eyes crinkling at the corners. He leans forward, an elbow on the table, a hand supporting his head as the other has the nectar complete its journey into Hypnos’ mouth.

 _Zig-Zag._ Well, he’s had worse. All from Hypnos, too. Zagreus rolls his eyes, readying his response of some equally silly name for Hypnos, when he sees it. 

A trickle of nectar comes from the corner of Hypnos’ mouth. It trails downwards to curve over his chin, and Hypnos, heedless of the sudden spectacle he’s giving Zagreus, lifts his head upwards to continue his drink, giving Zagreus a clearer view of what is exposed of his throat—

Oh, and he had been doing _so well,_ too.

No interruptions brought from Hypnos’ fluffy hair, no trances induced by his eyes, no stupors made by his dimples. The dream with the fig hits him like Theseus’ stupid chariot. It _feels_ the part, with the air being violently socked right out of him, leaving his ears ringing.

Oh, _damn_ nectar. It’s what’s heightened his senses to such a degree that he can focus so _clearly_ at the damn trickle. At the damn movements of Hypnos’ throat as he swallows. At the damn moistness of his lips. At the damn thought of reaching over and swiping a thumb across the offended trickle, brushing against soft, supple lips and beckoning inwards and teasing a tongue—

“I should go.” 

Zagreus stands so suddenly that he knocks his chair to the floor. 

And he walks so suddenly out, he doesn’t see Hypnos blink after him. 

Hypnos has to be doing this on purpose. But to what end? 

This is getting ridiculous. Preposterous. And all manners of similar synonyms. 

* * *

Zagreus has never had an apple.

Contrary to figs, they’re a fruit that demand a wealthy hand. He knows their appearance from the trees in Elysium, and while he may have never seen those on the Surface, he knows the apples in Elysium are an exaggerated version of succulence.

He doesn't think about apples while traversing the plains of Tartarus, but he does think about them when he shares an exchange with Aphrodite.

Answering her message, Zagreus does not expect the following dialogue. The goddess appears in her vibrant pink hue, emerging from the twirling petals of an ethereal rose. Aphrodite regards him a pining gaze, causing his hair to stand on end.

She speaks with glee. “ _I know_ that expression you wear. And I can feel the fluttering of your heart. Oh, are the rumours true, then? My doves speak the truth? How _wonderful!_ ” 

Zagreus wasn’t aware his expression said anything. And any rumour about himself, especially one that has apparently caught the attention of the goddess of love, must be good. At least in some capacity. 

He settles his hands on his hips. “Ah—I am not quite sure I follow, Lady Aphrodite. I haven’t been keeping in touch with the latest gossip about myself, but I hope it’s at least entertaining, whatever it is. Could you elaborate, so I could either confirm or deny?” 

If only he’d been spared a moment to prepare, even if a second.

Aphrodite squeals—do goddesses squeal? She squeals. “Why, my little godling, someone’s caught your eye. And I know he’s gotten your heart, too. And your dreams as well, I suspect!”

His body locks before his brain can catch up, considering that said brain comes to such a screeching halt, he thinks he can feel vertigo from it.

“My dreams—” Zagreus starts. “My—how…?”

Aphrodite’s tits, she hasn’t— _seen_ them, somehow, has she?

He knows the Olympians watch him from Olympus, but surely they do not have the power to invade the privacy of his mind? That’s a privilege held by Hypnos, because of what he is? Yes? Surely? Is that even remotely better?

Aphrodite continues, amused and unhelpful. “I would suggest throwing him an apple, but those seem scarce, if not barren entirely, from your world. Well, all the more reason to hurry up here, don’t you think?” 

Oh, Zagreus has read enough mortal romance to know the reddening of his face is justified. 

“I think—I think that’s taking things a little quick, wouldn’t you agree, Lady Aphrodite?” Zagreus attempts. “Why I, I still have to take him out to dinner, and all.”

Gods, why did he say that? He shouldn’t be encouraging this. Why can’t he find the strength to deny this?

Luckily, his encounters with the Olympians tend to be brief.

Aphrodite giggles in delight. “Well, get on with it then! I do so _love_ seeing people get together. It warms the soul.” 

And, she disperses, then, and Zagreus is left with a blessing and a warm face.

* * *

  
  


**Of the many boons of friendship, the ability to have others do your bidding ranks high. And the Prince is not below indulging in such an aspect, having asked Sleep of a great request. This is that memory.**

“You want me to put the _entire_ house asleep.” Hypnos says flatly, his expression likewise, despite still giving his usual smile. “Gee, there are easier ways to tell me to disappear under mysterious circumstances. Like telling me to go disappear under mysterious circumstances!”

Father’s potential punishments for either of them if they’re caught is not lost on Zagreus. And if push comes to shove, he would gladly stand as a shield for Hypnos to protect him from Father’s wrath. Physically. 

“Please, Hypnos,” Zagreus says. “I wouldn’t ask you something like this if it wasn’t important. And worth it.”

Zagreus could almost assume the constant feeling of being the deviant, like a theater of eyes are constantly trained to him, is merely how things _feel._ It has always been a part of him. Something he would simply have to accept, that he was a fragment of something bigger. But that feeling, that itch he can’t ever scratch, those pieces missing from him, have been growing stronger as of late. Almost unbearable. There must be, there _must_ be, something within Father’s records that can shed some light. Father never entertains the idea of gracing Zagreus with a straight answer if he asks anything on the topic. So, mischief it is. And there is a friend he knows he can count on. 

“Your definition of ‘worth it’ may need a rework.” Hypnos says. “I personally don’t think being flayed as a punishment is really worth trifling through his records with reckless abandon. I don’t know about _you,_ but I like my skin where it is! But I’ll have to commend you on being faithful on being the worst thorn to your Dad’s side, it’s really something, your dedication!”

He expected the hesitation from Hypnos. The request _is_ a tall order, and one that would be, most certainly, noticed once completed. 

“Someone has to fill that niche, and might as well be me. And I’ll take that flaying for you, I promise.” He says it as genuinely as he can manage, and Hypnos still holds an unconvinced face. “I’ll make it up to you, Hypnos. Whatever you want. No limitations, you need only ask.” 

It’s a promise that he intends to fulfill, and sincerity must be strong in his words and face because Hypnos does shift, then. From foot to foot, deliberating. 

“Whew. _Powerful_ words, that.” Hypnos sighs. His next words hold an uncharacteristically serious air. “Well… Clearly it’s gotta be something good, to get you so riled up. Expect some well earned labour as repayment. Next time you wake up, you’ll be the only one; but don’t dawdle. I’m good, but you won’t have a wide window.” 

Something blossoms in Zagreus’ chest. Something warm, something glowing, and he could wrap his arms around the smaller one if that didn’t risk snapping Hypnos in half.

“Thank you, Hypnos.” He says, gratefulness a heavy syrup that drips from his words. “Really.” 

**And so, did the Prince, completely and totally by chance, find out of his true lineage. And so, did the Prince start his never-ending quest.**

**And, curiously, did Sleep not ask for anything in return.**

* * *

_“I told you, boy, that there is no escape.”_

He knows he’ll vanquish Father. He has to. For Mother, for the Olympians, to humble Father from his intolerance. 

Despite being no stranger to death, the slayings from Father are—different. Painful, but not of the physical kind. The hole that persists and grows each time Father halts him is a hollow thing that Zagreus tries not to think too hard on. He’ll vanquish Father yet. Father’s empty desk will stop in its cruel mocking, yet. 

_"Redacted’s_ got you again, huh.” Hypnos quips, as Zagreus dredges past. Hypnos taps on his list with his knuckles. “You know, I keep looking into this thing and nothing _seems_ broken, but why would something come up as _Redacted?_ Well, you’ve just got killed by them, so unless they literally backstabbed you while you were fishing, you totally got a clear view of them, right? Throw me a bone here—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Zagreus’ feet feel heavier than they are, each step weighted and a burden. He’s regenerated fully, yes, but the ache in his body is ever persistent, the throb in his head continual, Father’s empty desk a bitter reminder that he can’t look at for too long. 

“Oh. Right.” Hypnos blinks. 

Zagreus takes his leave, aiming to the training yard to blow steam with Skelly and clear his head. But, curiously, Hypnos follows.

“Uh well anyway, you know what? Death and dying over and over again can get pretty monotonous, don’t you think? And I hear, I hear that there was a centaur spotted near abouts here. Can you believe it? A centaur! They don’t come down here often or… ever really! Why don’t we see if your boons of Artemis are worth it and we track down ourselves a centaur, yeah?” 

It's a poor, blatant attempt at distraction. But it works. Zagreus stops, and looks to the shorter one, who brightens. And he shouldn’t accept it, Zagreus knows, he won’t find Mother by entertaining childish pursuits.

Zagreus scoffs, rolling his shoulders, the ache beginning to ebb away. “That just doesn’t seem plausible, mate. A centaur, all the way down here? They must be lost. Looks like we should help them.”

  
  


* * *

Ambrosia is a rare delight, and Zagreus, at times, is tempted to hoard those that he gathers.

Currently, such a treasure belongs to Hypnos’ hand.

“We ever figure out what you’re the god _of?_ ” Hypnos asks, feet swaying over the edge of the cliff they sit on, just outside of the training yard. The sprawling green mists of Tartarus expand below them until disappearing at the horizon. 

Zagreus breathes in the sulphurous scent that permanents, looking outwards to the spires and rising, jagged mountains of the landscape below. Innumerable shades linger, appearing as only shining dots from this distance, like a cropping of the night sky brought downwards. 

“Why can’t I be the god of nothing?” Zagreus replies. 

Hypnos snorts. “I think Tartarus has you beat, there. The guy, not the place. And the Primordial soup that all life came from.”

Zagreus steals a glance at his companion, who drinks his treat, before looking back to the emerald sea before them. “Nothingness is infinite. Surely there can be more than one god of the same thing. The Titans were gods of the sky and sea before us, and at one point the Olympians and them co-existed.”

“Yeah, and look where they are now!” Hypnos laughs. “Or _aren’t_. You know, I think you’re the god of rebirth, considering.” 

Har-de-har. “I feel like I should take offense to that, somehow.” Zagreus declines the offering of ambrosia Hypnos gives with a wave of his hand, and declines it further still when Hypnos persists. “I just have the distinct impression you’re insulting me, mate.”

“God of perception, clearly! You’ll have a cult in no time, at this rate. Apollo is quaking.”

Hypnos snickers, before taking one final, deep inhale of the ambrosia so that the bottle empties entirely. He throws his head back to retrieve the precious liquid, swallowing greedily, his throat moving _so,_ and Zagreus stares at it for what feels like an age. Zagreus allows himself to enjoy the view it brings him, the captivating contortion of the other's throat, until Hypnos finishes with a satisfied exhale, to which Zagreus returns his gaze towards the scenery once more. He has _some_ tact.

They sit like that, then, quiet. Hypnos’ swinging legs eventually come to a rest, and it’s just them, sitting, still and quiet but comfortable. Zagreus wonders if Hypnos will fall asleep. He wonders if he’ll use his shoulder as a pillow. He would let him, as he always does. 

Hypnos speaks again, turning to look at Zagreus. “And let’s start that party early, eh? I can’t exactly leave you with nothing, in good conscious, the idea of being indebted is a nightmare.” 

Oh for the love of—

Zagreus groans with an accompanying eye roll. “Hypnos, it was a gift, you would not be _indebted._ I gave it to you because, sometimes, I enjoy being generous.” 

But that’s fruitless, as Hypnos is already summoning whatever it his hands from incorporeal storage. “Well, what if I enjoy being generous back? Just accept it.” The offending item is small enough to be held and hidden within Hypnos’ hands, and he shifts to turn more towards Zagreus. When Hypnos speaks, his gaze flutters downwards, and his voice and smile become soft. 

“I want you to have it.” He says, before opening his palms for Zagreus to inspect.

It’s a quilted trinket. It represents a slumbering brown bear, curled into a ball, and Zagreus knows what it is at an instant

 _Somnus,_ he knows its named. She’s named. A companion from Hypnos’ youth, just as Thanatos has Mort. Somnus was the first image of a bear Zagreus had seen, and still remains the primary reference he uses when he tries to visualize the beast. He almost can’t bring himself to take her in his hand. Something so precious, so intrinsically linked to Hypnos could never belong to him. And definitely not for some measly exchange of ambrosia, suddenly so inadequate. 

“Hypnos…this is… I couldn’t.” He starts, the bear keepsake as if a real beast for the presence it brings. 

“You _will,_ Zig-Zag.” Hypnos scoffs, encouraging the keepsake further into Zagreus’ space. “I’ll force you, if I have to.” 

This is greater than any gift Zagreus has given, and he feels so unworthy of the fact. A part of Hypnos himself. A keepsake, a companion, a key of summoning and suddenly Zagreus can’t even speak. He tentatively reaches forward, with enough time for Hypnos to change his mind. He doesn’t. Somnus is safely transferred into his hands. 

She’s light and soft, but terribly, wonderfully powerful. 

“I… thank you. Really.” Zagreus says, his honestly a near physical force that drapes between them.

Hypnos smiles at him. Not his usual default one. Something genuine and impossibly tender. It’s something Zagreus could lean forward towards, meeting halfway.

Hypnos rises to his feet quickly, and Zagreus startles back. 

Hypnos’ regular tone is back. “You know, bears are favourite. They’re giant and fearsome and could definitely tear you limb from limb but they have the most cuddle-y faces ever. They also sleep for seven straight months! If that isn’t dedication, I dunno what is.” He’s slowly stepping backwards, back towards the House proper and Zagreus is still rooted to the spot. “Hey, take care of her, alright? I’m trusting you with this. Don’t make me regret it. Don’t even bother coming back if she’s all torn up, alright? Haha!”

“I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of, I promise.” Zagreus assures, smiling.

Hypnos nods. He looks a second longer, before speaking. “Maybe she’ll help you to the Surface, yeah? Gods know you need it, hah.” 

The words are altered from his usual snark, despite the words. There’s a hidden promise there.

Hypnos leaves, and Zagreus lets him. He holds the keepsake close to his chest, Somnus warm as a living thing.

  
  


* * *

Theseus and Asterius are a _nuisance._

Zagreus respects them as champions, but he could go without dueling with them and then intermittently dying to them. The cheering, though, of the crowds enjoying the show, is something he could get used to. Definitely when its his name they cheer. But that doesn’t seem like a likely possibility, this round, considering the battering’s he's already gotten.

 _Gods,_ a minotaur and a chariot are not fair match-ups. And Theseus can also summon help from the Olympians and _whose side are they even on?!_

He’s in a tight spot. Theseus is loud, the crowd is loud, Asterius’ footsteps are frightfully loud and worryingly nearby. 

Somnus is a steady presence. She’s a beckoning presence, and Asterius is going to charge at him at any moment. She’s a _needed_ presence. Zagreus hasn’t used the summoning key yet, but now is a good a time as any. He finds himself swelling with anticipation as he reaches out to her, and subsequently, Hypnos.

It's a familiar warmth that assaults him when he does so, an embrace that envelopes him that feels as Hypnos' cape. Energy strikes through his body as the door is opened, bringing his hair on end as Hypnos arrives through a wisp of inky vapours with a loud crackling like thunder from Olympus. The crowd scream and jeer at the new presence, as Hypnos stands—startled. He's just woken up. Brought to a rude awakening and suddenly invaded by a flurry of bright lights that seek to blind and a cacophony of spectators that seek to deafen. Zagreus, immediately, is completely aghast at his action, despite summoning being an action that requires the consent of the summoned: he feels as though he's signed Hypnos' death certificate, with how Hypnos blinks in a vain attempt to counter the migraine he must be currently experiencing. 

_Shit,_ Zagreus helplessly thinks, as his body automatically sets to run towards the smaller god, content in being a meatshield. _Fuck,_ Zagreus further thinks when Asterius and Theseus both turn to look at Hypnos with obvious offense. He shouldn't have summoned _Hypnos,_ the man doesn't even fight, and now he's going to be torn apart and Zagreus' mind is only filled with images of Hypnos' mangled body, ruined from a chariot, ravaged by a bull, and Hypnos is never going to speak to him again _Oh Gods_ what did he _do_ Hypnos will recollect Somnus with ire, his trust broken and Zagreus will lose a part of himself and _Thanatos is going to kill him—_

Hypnos squints. Then he straightens himself. Then he's smiling.

“The Bull of Minos? Hero of Athens?!” Nope, _nope,_ Zagreus will _not_ allow jealousy in, not now of all times. “I’m your biggest fan!” Hypnos cries, exuberant. 

Zagreus, in that moment, within that split second, has his mind fried completely. Sizzled as he does when he miscalculates a jump over lava, and the combined force of adrenaline and worry is one that could literally kill him as Asterius' axe does. 

“Lend a hand, mate?” Zagreus asks, practically hysterical, just as Asterius starts his charge towards him and the crowd reaches a deafening crescendo.

“Wait, I’m trying to think of a one-liner,” Hypnos says as if a _minotaur isn’t charging towards him._ “Hey, its _bedtime!_ ” Is what he comes up with, still so miraculously calm despite the situation.

But of course, Hypnos isn’t a fighter. Zagreus has always known that fact and knows why, Hypnos does not delight in bloodshed, and is far too perpetually lethargic to even partake in such if he were. Hypnos doesn't _need_ to be a fighter, when he’s the best at making people unconscious with a mere snap of the fingers. 

And through that very snap of the fingers, the sound of a crackling burst detonates forth, the excess energy that radiates from it causes Zagreus to feel his hair stand on end. As if summoned a force of wind, does Hypnos' clothing stirs from the force of his spell, as his sights are set on Asterius.

Asterius, the blessed target, falls immediately. When he hits the ground, the entire arena practically rumbles from the force of it. Zagreus knows he nearly loses his footing when Asterius causes a mini-earthquake. The shades who had been seated in the rows behind Asterius are similarly affected: they disperse entirely as clouds, brought comatose.

The silence that born then is a physical weight, brought onto the area as if the sky had fell entirely. The only thing louder than Asterius' fall is Asterius’ subsequent snoring. And then the crowd’s collective _‘ooh’ing._

And then it's Theseus. “Terrible _fiend!_ ” Theseus roars. “Your terrible, wretched servant will not save you!”

Theseus' voice, shrill as it is annoying, brings Zagreus to his senses with a force. Asterius is down indefinitely, a coma Zagreus already knows will render him inert even when vanquished, and he turns to Hypnos with a grin of fervor.

“Sheesh.” Hypnos wrinkles his nose to Theseus, as the Hero readies himself for a charge. He turns to Zagreus, tilting his head. “Win for me, yeah? Would hate for my hard work to go to waste. See ya!” 

He disperses with the same ink, finishing his visit with a wave and—a _wink_ , and Zagreus is gifted with a sudden spike of invigoration as he faces Theseus, and he knows he can win this.

* * *

**Sleep lending his aid is not something that goes unnoticed, and even if a realm they do not often venture into, the Olympians know well what happens underneath.**

Hermes doesn’t even look at him when he speaks, too busy to trailing his progress on parchment. “Hey boss, word on the street says you’ve cozied up to Sleep. Cool, cool, though I’ve never seen the appeal of staying in one place unconscious.” 

Ares cocks his head. “The _eternal_ slumber brought when a mortal’s heart stops is the more desirable option, wouldn’t you agree, my kin? Though, it is mighty to _own_ half the lives of every mortal. Well done.”

Artemis quirks a brow. “You and Hypnos, really? Can’t say I saw it coming. There isn’t sport in catching prey that just merely sleeps. Aphrodite is definitely smitten with you two, I can tell you that much.”

Zeus squints. “I hear you consort with the likes of Hypnos, the little blight! I’ll have you know that I once torn down the mountains and broke the earth in search of him after the scourge tricked and put me to sleep! A slippery one, that. I would keep a close eye, if I were you, Nephew.” 

Aphrodite sighs dreamily. “My heart tells me you’ve since strengthened your bond with little Hypnos. Did you take him out for dinner, then?”

Zagreus can’t even further elaborate on the situation, with how quickly the Olympians disperse after giving him their blessings. No clarifying that they’re not _together_ together. Although. He isn’t sure he could get such words out, if he were even given the chance to. Their words bring with them a level in embarrassment, but also a small twinkling sense of warmth. 

It’s not harmful, now, if they assume. That’s on them. Zagreus can afford indulging them. 

**And, of course, Sleep’s Master is none too pleased with the development. Fool him once, shame on you. Fool him twice, and be thrown into the disgusting** **—and painfully pointy—depths of Tartarus.**

Being ordered for a private audience with the Lord of the House typically isn’t a good thing.

“And here I thought your first oversight was one birthed from his bribery; stupid and foolish, but a single event.” Hades growls, words spoken as if he wishes to have Hypnos’ bones tremble. “Yet, I am told you’ve given him _aid_ and actively encourage him. I would ask what sort of empty promise you were gullible enough to believe in, but I can’t find myself caring. What I _do_ care about, is where your loyalties lie.” 

Hypnos remains, ever still, unfazed. He may not be afraid of Lord Hades, but he isn’t stupid, or naive enough, to think he’ll come out of this unscathed. He’s already prepared himself for that much, as he looks up to his Master with a gleeful smile and innocent eyes. Hypnos speaks with his usual tone, one with a chipper attitude. “Well, Master, my loyalty is to this House. To you! And your kin. Why wouldn’t I be? I get to enjoy the lounge, the spiders in the corner, countless shade complaints and, of course, Cerberus. All while with job security! Speaking of, don’t you want me to look at the ledger before I get behind—?” 

“You _can_ be replaced, Hypnos, do not think you have the same protections as your brother and mother. They're both more valuable to me than you would ever be, and it is by my mercy alone that you still stand before me instead of being cast into the river Styx to drown for the rest of eternity. And _don’t_ think I won’t do just _that._ You will watch the procession of those who enter the House. You will keep to your station, you’ll do as you’re told, and you’ll have snakes bite at every inch of your flesh so you don’t fall asleep as you count every, _single,_ stone of the House, for your transgressions.” Hades leans forward, his shadow dwarfing Hypnos’ form almost comically. The Master's promise is already one that is brought into fruition, birthed by his words alone and Hypnos can already feel the slithering of scales beneath his cloak. 

“Do I make myself clear?” Hades says darkly, his stare a calamity in itself.

“I’ll keep to my station, I’ll do as I’m told, and I’ll have snakes bite at every inch of my flesh so I don’t fall asleep as I count every, single, stone of the House!” Hypnos says brightly, feeling a serpent's tongue grace itself at his nape, the beast's breath a mocking thing. Could be worse. Probably. Master Hades could have forbade him from interacting from Zagreus entirely, after all. What's a little (well, _a lot_ ) of agony to that? The nightmares that the mortals will experience during this punishment will create a backlog that Hypnos already knows he'll never be able to get through. But. Could be worse. 

**There is little arguing or convincing than can be done when the Master of the House has decided on a punishment. For he is not one to be swayed by any sort of pathetic begging, having quite literally seen them all. Sleep may be jovial at every turn, but he knows his place and how to keep it.**

**The Prince will wonder where Sleep will be, when the latter will be absent from his post, worried, when Sleep continues his disappearance even after multiple rebirths.**

**When he does return, nothing will be amiss; Sleep will continue as if he hadn’t had serpents dig their fangs into his neck only moments prior.**

* * *

The cave they reside within isn’t so much as a cave as more as a personalized, private alcove within the valley of Erebus. Light does not venture here, and to mortal eyes, all would be an endless inky black. But to Zagreus, he sees a space furnished with the green of various plants, sprinkled red of the petals of their flowers. The floor and walls are fashioned from a temple, marble glittering a navy hue. Despite the fact no light exists here, the surfaces that reside here shine with an inexplicable glow of twilight.

They’re on an ebony bed, cushioned golden and padded with softness that rivals Hypnos’ cape. Said cape is tucked elsewhere, with the golden plating Hypnos wears, enjoying the freedom of wearing just his crimson tunic.

Zagreus’ thigh substitutes for a pillow, one that he has been assured makes for a more than comfortable cushion. Hypnos lays his head in Zagreus’ lap, the curls of his white hair delicate to the touch as Zagreus lazily moves his hand through it. The Prince had been comfortably leaning against cushioned wall, eyes fluttering shut for a light rest, but he stirs, however, when he feels a tickling on the inner of his thigh. Fingertips circle in a lazy motion lightly, faint, but tantalizing. 

“Handsy, are we?” Zagreus muses, continuing to pet Hypnos’ hair. 

“You want to know what I dream of?” Hypnos says casually, and Zagreus can _feel_ his smile.

And, in turn, Zagreus smiles as well. He has an idea where this will go, and he already feels himself prepare. “Any and all things imaginable, that it is incomprehensible to both mortal and immortal minds?” He says. 

“I think my dreams where I fondle you while we bathe together is comprehensible to any mortal and immortal mind.”

Straight to the point, as always. 

Zagreus laughs, one that rumbles throughout his body and he sees Hypnos turn his head so he can look up to him, face full of cheek. When he settles, anticipation a growing fire in his belly, Zagreus trails his hand from Hypnos’ head, rounding his cheek, and settling at his shoulder. 

“That sounds like a most excellent dream.” Zagreus breathes, already subconsciously attempting to widen space between his legs. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me more, then, mate?”

It’s all the invitation Hypnos needs.

“I’ll do you one better, _mate._ ” Hypnos says, lifting himself, eye bright and smirk bewitching as he crawls on Zagreus’ lap. “I’ll show you.”

Zagreus’ hands instantly lay themselves at Hypnos’ hips as the smaller one settles himself, his weight an ever welcome one in such a position. Everytime, _everytime,_ it doesn’t matter how they’ve already enjoyed each other’s bodies, Zagreus still gets as giddy as the first time. 

“You need to get better at your foreplay.” Zagreus teases, but he’s hardly complaining.

“I’ll fall asleep. Not that that should stop you.” Hypnos quips. “And I’m not Orpheus; if you want some whimsical and fantastic weaving about how I touch your cock, go to him.” 

Zagreus cringes. “Oh, I don’t want to think about Orpheus _now._ I won’t be able to get hard.” 

Hypnos throws his head back with a bark of laughter. “Shut up. I’m trying to show you, remember?” 

And then he cups Zagreus’ face in his hands, and then he’s leaning forward, and then he’s kissing him, and Zagreus is kissing back. And he kisses back, and he kisses _back,_ until the feeling of Hypnos' mouth against him is the only thing he feels, the only thing he breathes, until the world falls away completely and it's just the two of them. Hypnos’ insistent mouth is demanding, and Zagreus’ welcomes it willingly with glee. He moves his hands against the lithe body, pulling it as close as physically possible until they’re one. His hands move at their own accord, up and down Hypnos’ sides, his back, willing to touch at every inch and growing exceptionally greedy. Hypnos, the key to opening parts of Zagreus that even Zagreus never knew about, moves his own hands downwards, stirring a trail of fire beneath Zagreus’ skin in his wake. Zagreus’ own hands hit their mark when they reach downwards at Hypnos' rear, and cup a cheek each.

When he does so, Hypnos parts from the kiss, a satisfied, proud look on his face as he regards Zagreus. Hypnos has a digging hand underneath Zagreus' tunic to grope at his chest, the other, already doing so where his side is exposed. He thumbs Zagreus’ nipple, circles it with a finger before giving it a pinch. Zagreus, whose body has been steadily warming, arousal growing in presence, gasps softly. 

“Do you suck me, in the dream,” he asks, squeezing, eliciting a most rewarding groan from Hypnos. “Or, will you ride me?” 

Hypnos digs in nails inwards, gripping upon Zagreus’ pectoral. He buries his face in the crook of Zagreus’ shoulder, his breath hot against his neck. 

“Whatever you want. It's a chose your own adventure.” Hypnos breathes.

And then he does it—Hypnos drives his hips forward, grinding his front with Zagreus’. The friction proves as deeply intoxicating as bathing in ambrosia, and Hypnos is a solid anchor in a world that loses focus, drowned out with only as a fuzzy outline. It helps that there is a specific part of Hypnos that is solid, too. 

What’s that word, the one mortals fashioned from Hypnos’ name? He’s certain its applicable here, if he can just remember it. But memory is a fickle thing, snuffed like a candle when Hypnos is where he is. He’s awfully, delightfully, distracting. 

“ _Zig-Zag,_ ” the smaller god whispers.

It must be the absurdity of hearing such a nickname accompanied with a sultry voice that absolutely should not belong to Hypnos, that Zagreus wakes.

He does so with a jolt, his senses still too electrified from the vision. He gasps, startling himself upwards into a sitting position within the pool. Disorientation smothers him, amplified from the sudden change of scenery and sensation. The blood pool itself is always a sickly warmth, but his body is still aflame from the phantom sensations of a certain touch. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision and mind, and for once, the stench of the pool is welcome, as it quickly sobers him. 

“Zig-Zag!” Hypnos calls, dreadfully close. But also not close enough. Zagreus whips his head so fast towards the voice he nearly snaps his neck.

Hypnos isn’t at his usual spot. He’s perched near the steps. Closer _(but still not close enough)_. He’s crouched and regarding Zagreus with his usual joviality and—this has got to be it. There is where Hypnos, finally, comes clean. Provide any sort of clarity. Alleviate the bright thrills that still sweep through his body, amplifying the still present image of Hypnos in his lap, and the feeling of hands leaving his flesh delighted. It’s why he waited, here, for Zagreus’ arrival. Surely. It's why he's crouched at the steps instead of where he usually stands, it's why he regards Zagreus with evident fondness. 

Thank the _Gods_ Zagreus is still semi submerged in the pool. That his groin, in particular, is hidden. He closes his legs in reflex.

Hypnos opens his mouth, and this is it. Some snarky, grand reveal. Asking if Zagreus enjoyed it. Offer a continuation. Zagreus’ heart is still beating from the feeling of Hypnos’ mouth, soft and beautiful and mesmerizing. 

“You’re awake and looking as beat up as someone beat up by a Greatshield would be. You know, hitting the shield won’t do you much good, I reckon you gotta hit the un-shielded parts to _really_ get your point across!”

He blinks. Hypnos doesn’t continue. He looks at him as if waiting for Zagreus to reply. As if he expects Zagreus to have any faculties left to make a coherent reply. Zagreus rubs at his face. He doesn’t need to clean himself from blood or sweat, but he finds, suddenly, the image of Hypnos to be too much, but shielding his eyes don’t do much. He’s assaulted then by the memory of the previous vision, behind his eyelids. _A warm, inviting body against his, urging to be closer as Hypnos moves his front further against Zagreus'._ _A satisfied gasp emitted near Zagreus' ear, when the Prince moves a hand to cup Hypnos through his tunic._

“Let me guess: you still have your ears ringing from getting your head smashed in by Elysium’s exalted?” Hypnos continues, and Zagreus looks back at him again in utter disbelief. “Come on, let me help you up. Would look bad if you lost your balance and fell back in the pool, right?”

Hypnos offers a hand, smiling. Zagreus feels light headed. Confused, pieces missing from the puzzle that Hypnos, evidently, is intent on keeping from him. He remembers the fig, he remembers fishing, he remembers Hypnos' body pressed up against him, as if his soul inhabited two separate vessels. He remembers, too brightly, too intently, of Hypnos’ form against his, a perfect, completed match, simply meant to be there as the most obvious thing.

Hypnos’ hand is still outstretched. He doesn’t say anything. No hints. Like nothing had happened, like he hasn’t been giving Zagreus visions for what feels like eons, now. If he wants Zagreus to break first, then fine. He’ll allow Hypnos that victory. 

“Why do you do it?” Zagreus asks, near a breaking point. “Why did you do _that?_ ” Zagreus asks, at that breaking point.

Hypnos’ brows crease, but his smile is still ever present, his voice likewise with its jovial tone. “I do a lot of things, Zig-Zag. You might need to be more specific?” 

Zagreus definitely inherited his Father overwhelming sense of frustration.

“ _Stop it,_ ” Zagreus growls without meaning. “You don’t have to play stupid anymore. You’ve gone too far for that.” 

Hypnos’ hand falters, as does his expression, a flickering of the grin that he still consciously attempts to retain. 

And then, it’s too much. He lifts himself from the pool, the flashes of Hypnos’ body against his, his mouth against his, and Zagreus’ mind is too cluttered to make sense of anything. His confusion is too prominent, too loud, and Hypnos’—terrible insistence to continue it completes the tipping edge. He doesn’t give Hypnos any time to respond, he stands in a haste and marches towards his room. 

(He flees.)

“Zagreus—?” Is what follows him from Hypnos, but the smaller one doesn’t follow.

In the sanctuary of his room, Zagreus sits heavily on his bed. Before quickly standing once more. The bed—soft, too soft, like the one where Hypnos straddled him. He paces instead, pinching his nose.

He stops when his mind continues in its tirade of being useless. 

_“Hypnotized,”_ Zagreus remembers with a mirthless, empty laugh.

  
  


* * *

**It may have been a welcome respite from the constant horrors of repeated obliteration, but Sleep’s lack of an explanation makes for a very complicated situation.**

It should have been obvious. When he is able to take a moment and reflect, the answer is so _obvious._

Of course he’s in love Hypnos. Admitting that much is like slapping his forehead and groaning a _'duh!'_ Hypnos, who is always a welcomed weight when he rests on Zagreus, that presence that has always softened each death. Zagreus has loved him, for a long time, now, the feelings always mistaken, the feelings always misinterpreted. Just as he had first thought the dreams some silly distraction, some inconceivable notion of jest that only Hypnos knows how to rationalize. Hypnos is still probably the only one who can offer an actual reason, because Zagreus can’t. 

The emergent motive that Zagreus thinks is the case, now, is one that eats at him worse than worms in the flesh. Hypnos must be aware of his feelings. Aware of it, before Zagreus himself was. And yet, he never makes mention of it when they actually speak. Not once has he even asked if Zagreus has had pleasant dreams, not one single allusion to the fact. No _“gotcha!”_ Anything would be welcome, at this point. Hypnos gives him dreams of love and lust and—He's teasing Zagreus. _Mocking_ him, and his feelings, the love that Zagreus feels for him a point of ridicule and scorn and he never took Hypnos to be such a relentless sadist. It twists as a knife to the chest, and he can't rationalize why Hypnos would do such a thing. How he could so hateful, his actions so starkly different from the exuberant smile he wears.

The dreams turn from comforting, to confusing, to cruel. 

Zagreus doesn’t know what to think. That cavernous, deep anguish is a ravenous beast that torments him as insects beneath the skin. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand why Hypnos would do this. So he avoids it. And he avoids Hypnos. 

He has bigger obligations, anyway, such as the Surface. 

* * *

**And so, the Prince makes a decision.** **While** **the Prince is known for tackling his problems head on with a bad idea, this isn’t like most problems. But he still has a bad idea.**

Hypnos owes him an explanation. But he won’t wait for him to do it, he’s already waited enough for that. His quest takes full precedent, and he doesn’t leave room for anything else, let alone for the man who invades his mind. Even _still._ The touches of the vision no longer feel clean, and emerging from the Pool of Styx merely emphasizes it tenfold. He marches outwards towards the desired location of his room, pointedly not looking towards the curly white hair and crimson cloak he sees from the corner of his vision.

“ _Heyheyhey,_ Zig-Zag! You ever hear someone dying by a tortoise being dropped on their head—?” 

Zagreus continues past him, interested only if Hypnos’ voice holds either the beginning of an explanation, or an apology. Hypnos follows him, his footsteps fast as he attempts to keep pace with Zagreus’ longer, and quick, strides, and something boils inside him. 

“How about this guy who jumped into a volcano, thinking himself a god—?” 

“ _Leave me._ ” 

The flat, no nonsense tone makes its mark. Hypnos’ footsteps abruptly halt behind him. Zagreus doesn’t hear it continue as he continues his trek to his room. 

Eventually, Hypnos seems to get the message. He stops his empty attempts in greeting. But he doesn’t come to Zagreus in private, he just stops attempting to grab Zagreus’ attention entirely and Zagreus ignores viciously that misery within him, settled as tar in the gut.

When Zagreus passes him, Hypnos may as well be a shade. 

* * *

  
"Get back to your post," Thanatos orders with a scowl, Hypnos a sudden presence that practically appeared out of thin air as Thanatos stands and surveys the arrival of souls to Hades. Hypnos looks up at him with a smile that twitches, his usual default expression morphed with contortion as something obviously troubles him, smile only present out of habit. Thanatos squints. Hypnos' eye bags are heavier than usual, more prominent, and whatever weighs down Hypnos looks as a physical force with how he holds himself.

"TalktoZagreuspleaseIfuckeduptellhimI'msorryIdon'tknowwhat—" Hypnos says in one frightful burst of squeaky noise and Thanatos literally recoils where he stands from the onset of it.

" _Shut up,_ " Thanatos cuts, in order to save his ears from the onslaught. He raised a hand in doing so, halting Hypnos' tirade and his brother literally gnaws on his bottom lip to silence himself, hands now clenched and—Yeah, definitely stressed from something. A sigh presents itself from Thanatos, knowing full well this means countless mortals have developed numerous sleeping problems. Their complaints will be endless.

"Speak slowly." Thanatos says, and in any other context he would have rightfully disappeared, vacating himself from Hypnos' presence. But he did hear a 'Zagreus' in that awful outburst, and Hypnos _is_ seemingly very committed to appear as a corpse this day. Night. Whatever.

Hypnos takes a deep inhale, and Thanatos mentally prepares. 

"You're friends with Zig-Zag," he starts, and Thanatos is brought to literal shock at _Zig-Zag._ He thinks he's found the origin of the problem. Hypnos continues before he can tell him not to call Zag that. "Of course you're friends with Zig—Zagreus. You two like to dance and prance around with wretches, hang out in the lounge and Zagreus always likes to speak with you when he has the chance and you should hang around more often, you know, he really likes your presence and—"

"The point, Hypnos." What a mess. The want to teleport elsewhere is a strong one, but he is kept where he is by how much smaller Hypnos appears. Smaller than usual. More feeble, more weak, more pathetic, and alas; such is the duties of a brother, as Thanatos begrudgingly stays longer to entertain the fool. 

"Talk to Zagreus, for me, yeah?" Hypnos says, his smile seeming as a burden to keep on his face. Before Thanatos can ask why he simply doesn't talk to Zagreus himself, seeing as Hypnos has somehow established himself as Zag's companion, Hypnos continues. "He's not speaking to me. He won't even look at me, I'm just another piece of the wall, and he's angry with me. Like, absolutely livid, raging manticore pissed off, and I _don't_ know _why._ Tell him that, when you're out traipsing at Asphodel or Elysium or wherever you two meet up, yeah? Tell him I don't know what stupid thing I did, and it would be very, _very_ nice to know because I would love to have this cleared up as soon as possible because I miss—I haven't been sleeping well and I think my hair is falling out and this would be _so_ much easier if I _knew_ what I _did—_ "

"Get back to your post, Hypnos." Thanatos restates again, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, becoming the sudden mediator between the two already a headache.

"Will you—?" Hypnos attempts, before Thanatos interrupts.

"I will speak to Zagreus if you are gone and _back to your post_ when I open my eyes." He says, ending the statement with that promise: he opens his eyes, and is greeted with an empty hallway. 

* * *

He’s in Asphodel when Death approaches. 

And once the battlefield is swept in that distinct sulfuric smell after a hoard has been vanquished, Thanatos speaks. “You’re quick, but you’re reckless.” He says, in that characteristic way of his of sounding both disapproving and approving at the same time. 

“How else am I going to avoid getting hit?” Zagreus muses, taking the prize that Thanatos yields. He expects Thanatos to depart shortly after, evaporated into his green mist, as he is most proficient in making himself scarce. When Thanatos _doesn’t_ immediately take his leave, Zagreus is one the verge of opening his mouth to ask what’s on his mind, but the other beats him to it.

“I can’t believe you let him call you _‘Zig-Zag,'_ ” Thanatos says with a wrinkled nose. “What bet did you lose for _that_ to befall on you?” 

Because his body is treacherous, Zagreus stiffens automatically at the mention of Hypnos, even indirectly. 

“You know it's no use to ask him to stop. He’ll call me that regardless, if I disliked it.” Zagreus says. And then, suddenly feeling the need to clarify: “Which I don’t.” 

Zagreus winces at that. The echoes of Hypnos' voice, _Zig-Zag,_ spoken with amusement and his heart is suddenly in a stranglehold. Hypnos is such a complicated topic. It’s one he’d rather avoid at the current moment, easier to ignore when in combat, but even still a presence that causes him to distraction: he's been dying more frequently. Has had to dredge past Hypnos more frequently, an anguish each time that only grows as thorns in his throat. Gods, even _Skelly_ has noticed something is up, remarks of how his performance has changed, how it's better to have a clear mind to deliver a good wallop, statements made with an obvious manufactured casualness, and Zagreus ignored it as he ignores Hypnos. But he should’ve known that Thanatos, of all people, would speak to him about his brother. Zagreus kicks a rock absently as Thanatos regards him with blank expression. 

“You’ve been avoiding Hypnos.” Thanatos says mildly, and Zagreus needs to physically suppress the urge to make a noise of exasperation or defeat or misery, he doesn't know. 

And then, suddenly like hit to the face, annoyance. Complete and total irritation that distorts and evolves into anger. And brightly, he remembers Hypnos’ dour face when he spoke of Thanatos, and suddenly he has somewhere to channel that thing in his chest.

“That’s rich, coming from you, of all people.” Zagreus says before he can think better about it. “ _You_ never speak to him and he’s your _brother,_ your brother who adorns the ground you float on, and you don’t even make an attempt with him! What’s _your_ excuse?”

Maybe he should look into his impulsive behaviours. Maybe he should work on bettering it. The silence that follows after his scathing remarks is heavy, but most of all, stunned. Thanatos’ naked bewilderment is mystifying in of itself, but he quickly schools himself into that practiced default expression of his.

Zagreus, on the other hand, wants to slap himself. Hypocritical _ass._

Zagreus opens his mouth, then closes it. “Than, I—I’m sorry, that wasn’t—”

“He speaks highly of you, you know.” Thanatos interrupts, cooly. “Underneath all that sarcasm. He lights up, when you’re mentioned, when you're around.”

Thanatos turns away, and leaves with his parting remark. “He told me to tell you he doesn’t know what he did.” 

And then he is gone, and Zagreus is left alone in a burning world. Left with how his mind has come to a screeching halt, vacated from any thoughts to the point he feels the need to sit down, and he can't think. 

Well. Blood and darkness. 

* * *

When Zagreus enters his room, Hypnos lays languidly on his bed.

His breathing is rhythmic. He lays on his back, face forward to the ceiling, eye mask in place. He’s asleep. He has a foot crossed over the other, hands clasped neatly on his chest, and it reminds Zagreus of some the funerary rites of mortals. He watches Hypnos as he sleeps, like a perfect picture of tranquility and Zagreus almost loses himself in it. He smiles, a small, absentminded one that is birthed the continual, never ending stream of fondness he feels from Hypnos’ presence alone. Zagreus steps forward, just before the bed, and leans forward. He lightly moves the curls of hair from Hypnos’ forehead so he may have a clear spot to plant his lips. He leaves a light kiss to the other, before he retracts. When he does so, he sees that Hypnos’ previous expression of sleep has morphed into a smile. 

“I can think of some better ways you can wake me up.” Hypnos says.

Zagreus scoffs. “Wasn’t really trying to wake you, mate. But if you want, I can get a bowl of blood to pour on you to wake you up properly.” 

Hypnos snorts, moving to place his eye mask to his forehead, and looks at Zagreus with a mock unimpressed expression. “You’re not funny, you know that? Leave the humour to me.” 

“You wound me.” Zagreus says, eyeing how Hypnos uncrosses his legs. “And here I thought you were just an overly decorated bed warmer.” 

And that gets a response. Hypnos’ smile reaches his eyes, mischief dancing between them as he raises his knees, before spreading them apart from one another. He widens a most tempting entrance, and Zagreus makes sure to lean back to enjoy the view. Hypnos’ skirt is long enough to conceal the prize beneath, but cloth is hardly a barrier. 

“I’m yours for the taking, O Prince.” Hypnos deliberates casually, but his excitement is betrayed by the glint in his eyes. "I'm an overly decorated bed warmer _and_ the funny one in this relationship."

Hypnos lifts his chin, exposing his throat in an act of submission, and Zagreus feels a surge of predatory instinct spike through him. He wishes to place a hand on the smaller one’s throat, only lightly collaring the other, but with just enough pressure to stop a wriggling body and to establish where Hypnos’ place lies. 

“If you insist.” Zagreus relents, his voice grown heavy with want, and moves froward to overwhelm the smaller body beneath him.

And—Red. Everywhere.

Zagreus groans when he wakes in the Pool of Styx, but not from any residual pain, either physical or mental, from his previous failed run. He groans, because of the sudden void that presents itself cruelly in his chest. The warmth and belonging from the vision prior is stripped from him with a particular violence, leaving him as just a husk, to the point where stepping out of the pool feels like an insurmountable burden. He dredges outwards at a sluggish pace, as if each step he will lose more of what little left he has of the fervor felt only moments before. Shades linger as they used to, a perpetual crowd that continues indefinitely, but, by the Gods, he feels so _lonely._ A part of him is missing, and this curse is going to kill him slowly and permanently. 

Hypnos stands where he usually does. He’s—Not asleep, as he usually is. In fact, he's looking at Zagreus' direction, and when their eyes meet, Zagreus sees Hypnos literally seize, shoulders meeting his ears as he locks up. Hypnos immediately darts his sights elsewhere, looking to the floor, to his list, to the ceiling. His smile is twitching. And Zagreus feels a terrible, all encompassing pang as an impalement when he realizes that _he's_ the cause of this. Of how Hypnos looks so—forlorn. 

Hypnos really, truly, does not know of Zagreus’ dreams. And all he’s done is flee, as a coward, as a complete _ass._ He doesn’t even know what’s worse, Hypnos knowing and being deliberately obtuse, or him _not_ knowing and Zagreus effectively—abandoning him. His chest clenches, like something has his heart in its fist; he feels as though he’s done something unforgivable. Hypnos _still_ allows himself to be summoned, through Somnus. Despite everything. Gods, he’s such an _idiot._

Zagreus walks forward, his confidence isn’t at a reassuring level, but Hypnos deserves a talk between them. This infatuation has gone on long enough, and Hypnos deserves his own chance to rightfully chew him out because of his actions. When he approaches further, Hypnos scrutinizes his list with comical focus, eyes staring a hole into it as his knuckles turn white from the grip he holds upon his quill. Zagreus' determination is marred by his anxiety that hangs around him as a noose. 

When he approaches, settled in his usual spot when he speaks with Hypnos, he speaks. "Hypnos," he greets, his voice level. 

As if freed form a stupor, Hypnos immediately straightens as he does when awoken, letting out a canned greeting.

“Welcome to the House of Hades. Glory in death!” 

His voice is its usual self, eyes darting upwards to meet Zagreus' ( _Golden, brighter than any ambrosia_ ), and Hypnos is then stilled into staring. He blinks. Then continues staring. 

Zagreus clenches and unclenches his fists. Hypnos blinks again when Zagreus doesn’t leave right away, eyes adopting a certain shine (he's _hopeful,_ and Zagreus has never felt so much like a villain before) and Zagreus should really say something before his body reacts in fleeing.

“No helpful hints?” He says, attempting for sarcastic, but it comes out decidedly pitiful. 

Hypnos, either miraculously not noticing, unaffected, or desperate for some semblance of normalcy, responds after stealing a glance at his list. 

“A _numbskull_ got you. Geez! A numbskull? You’ve never been beaten by one of those, before. Maybe, don’t think about how pretty a butterfly is when a flaming skull is careening towards you?”

It’s definitely a talent, that Hypnos has, to revert so seamlessly into his usual haughty nature. His body physically loosens from its previous tension, smile slowly returning to its usual cheer.

Hypnos stands as he always does, aloof and everlastingly in the state of just having woken up. Anticipation seeping from him as waves, hands curling into the sheets beneath as his mouth parts in a quiet ‘o,’ the exhale of satisfaction that leaves him is quiet but immeasurably enticing as Zagreus drifts his hands further upwards the other’s thigh, allowing his nails to trail upon the soft flesh before grabbing Hypnos’—

Of course it would come barreling back as a punch to the face as he speaks with Hypnos. How decidedly unhelpful. _Stop that._

“Uh,” Zagreus’ face has become very hot. Hypnos is still looking at him. He needs to shut his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose to recenter himself, clearing his mind from the images of Hypnos’ robe being brought off his body—

_Stop that!_

“Hypnos,” Zagreus mutters, rubbing his face. “We should talk. Will you… meet me in my room, please?” 

And then, Hypnos’ expression falters, with a twitch of his lip. He nods. “Yeah. Okay. Sure! My job can itself, yeah?” His voice quivers, just slightly, at the last word, betraying him. 

Zagreus nods as well, attempting to form an encouraging smile, but comes out as a small, second long blink of the corner of his mouth. 

He leaves, the promised talk looming as a hydra.

* * *

  
  


Zagreus hears the door to his room open, and before he can even turn to face Hypnos, Hypnos starts speaking. 

“So, I don’t know what I did.” He says, before the door has even fully closed. He walks to be a few short steps in front of Zagreus. “When people don’t understand a thing, it's nice to know what’s going on. One of the finer things of existence is comprehension for… things. So give me a hand here, Zig-Zag. Zagreus. Please?” 

It must be because of the privacy of the room, that Hypnos’ demeanour changes. His words have a clear sense of urgency to them, and his expression is pleading. It’s almost disarming, as Zagreus looks at him.

He really doesn’t know. And Zagreus doesn’t even know where to _start_. Of course he needs to tell Hypnos of the dreams, of the—contents of them, too. He’ll confess the crimes of his unreliable mind and Hypnos will react with whatever level of scorn he wishes. The idea of Hypnos reacting so negatively to the point of not wanting to even interact with Zagreus is a horrible prospect, even if, in those small rational parts of him, he knows it to be unlikely. But it is a loud, terrifying thing, and a possibility nonetheless. It's probably what he deserves, after all. 

“Have you been giving me dreams?” Zagreus asks. He expects a response in the negative, to which he’ll explain his visions. Gods, he should have rehearsed this. 

But. Hypnos winces. He shifts from one foot to the other, and Zagreus feels his brows crease. 

“ _Well._ ” Hypnos starts, and Zagreus’ blood is starting to run cold. “Dying isn’t—fun, obviously. No one likes dying. It’s annoying and painful and just a hassle, you know? You would know. No one likes it! And you… You looked real grumpy the first few times you got clobbered. So. I thought… I would…. _Help_ …” 

Silence. As if all the air had suddenly been funneled out entirely. The Underworld as a whole is warm, something Zagreus has only truly realized when he tasted the Surface, but at the moment, he might as well have accepted all of Demeter’s boons at once.

“So you _have_ been giving me dreams.” He says, flatly. His hands are beginning to clench into a fist.

“Yes.” Hypnos says, spreading his hands out in front of him. “Yes! The truth comes out. You don’t seem very appreciative—”

The _audacity._ “Why didn’t you say _anything?_ ” Zagreus growls, baring teeth and his blood running from cold to hot at an alarming degree. The Underworld as a whole is warm, but it may become boiling, yet. 

“I’m trying to!” Hypnos continues, voice high. “Listen, Zig—Zagreus. I wanted to be… I just wanted your rebirths to be a little nicer. So, I made sure the dreams you had while dying were—nice. Pleasant. Always something good. But, uh, clearly something went haywire, because, uh, you don’t… seem… happy.” 

“I would be _happy,_ ” Zagreus seethes, stepping closer, _looming_. Hypnos takes a step back. “If you could tell me _why_ you’ve been giving me dreams of—of _bedding_ you!” Zagreus’ vision is similar to when he arrives out of the Pool of Styx: Red. “Are my… feelings a joke to you? Something you can just play around with—do you think its funny I love you? You could have just _told_ me you weren’t interested. What do you want from me? Why would you _do_ that?”

His initial outburst simmers from its heat, smoldering as embers that still burn but decidedly less packed with venom. Something inside him hurts. _Many_ things inside him hurt. He’d rather have the bone hydra tear him limb from limb, so it may alleviate the ache. A deep, empty cavern exists inside him and it only grows as he stares at the man in front of him, who still holds enough arrogance to look surprised.

“You love me?” Hypnos splutters, seemingly bewildered, and it pushes Zagreus over. 

“ _Stop that!_ ” Zagreus scowls, pointing at Hypnos with his finger as if he wields his sword. “ _Stop_ acting stupid. You just admitted to giving me the dreams.” His finger curls inwards and his fist trembles in front of him. He drops it limply to his side.

It cuts deep, similar to how he felt when he found of his lineage. But with salt, this time. Betrayal of such a kind is not something Zagreus would wish upon anyone, even his greatest foe, this feeling of himself dying, greater than any physical death. 

“I just want to know _why."_ Zagreus pleads, drained as if he were Atlas. “Please.” 

Hypnos looks lost. Eyes wide, mouth attempting, and seemingly failing, to form a response. 

“I didn’t know.” Hypnos stutters, and Zagreus could throttle something. “Zagreus—I’m serious, I had no idea of your feelings or that you—dreamt of _bedding_ me. I made sure that you had pleasant visions, _yes,_ that was me, but what constitutes as ‘good’ is determined by _you._ ” His voice is imploring, almost hysterical. “ _Your_ subconscious comes up with the contents. I just made sure of the parameters.”

And—Silence, once more, like his brain has been taken out of his head.

And he can’t rightly piece together the statement he was given. Basic comprehension is only but a luxury, and one that he cannot grasp, as he simply stares. And blinks. As if the words were spoken entirely in a different tongue, Zagreus merely stands as a statue, helpless. The moments tick on, like an eternity, and the pieces refuse to fall together into an understandable image. 

“What?” Zagreus splutters, intelligently.

“I haven’t seen your dreams.” Hypnos says, quieter, as he fiddles with his fingers. “It’s private, you know? I _could,_ but you never gave me permission for that. I just wanted to… ease… your deaths… So I told them, I told your dreams: _‘be nice to him. He’s had a rough day.’_ But I didn’t say _how_ to be nice. Your subconscious did. And… apparently… ‘nice’ is… you… fucking… me?”

Oh, wow. Oh. 

Dying isn’t fun, but it is desirable now. He’d have pride in the fact that he isn’t running away if staying stationary wasn’t so mortifying. 

Well, fuck, that’s one way to get it out. Is he floating right now? He feels like his floating, like a voyeur to his body as Hypnos' words continue to sink in. Huh. That—was awfully considerate of him, actually. Hypnos was not obligated to do so, but did it anyway and that is, well, very nice. 

“Yeah.” Zagreus answers, absentmindedly. It is nice fucking Hypnos. 

When Zagreus is able to grasp Hypnos’ flustered expression, does any semblance of sense return to him like a chariot to the face.

“I’m so sorry Hypnos.” he says, hurriedly, face suddenly very, very hot. “I’m— _Blight._ I don’t—Wow. I’m terrible I’m so sorry—” 

“I didn’t think you’d love me back, you know.” 

Tonight—today?—is just _full_ of blindsides. Hypnos’ voice is soft. His face is gentle. His tone is growing humourous. Zagreus' brain needs to restart. 

Zagreus may need to sit down. 

“You don’t need to apologize. Okay, maybe a little. I lost sleep after you bailed on me, you know. But it’s okay.” Hypnos says, his smile indulgent. _Cute little dimples._ “You _love_ me.” 

He sounds smug. He sounds _proud_. The little git. The little, beautiful, wonderful asshole. The man who fills Zagreus with an indescribable sense of warmth and belonging, who keeps him complete.

“Yeah.” Zagreus breathes. His smile grows wide. “Yeah! I do.” He says with the most confidence he’s ever had. “Can I kiss you?”

Hypnos _laughs_ ; beautiful and sonorous, and Zagreus could drown in it.

“Zeus’ balls, _yes._ Stop talking.” 

He does so in a surge. In a desperate rush of want, Zagreus goes forward, and Hypnos meets him halfway. When he cups the other’s face, as if caressing the most precious thing in existence, something inside him glows. Completion, totally and wholly, and as their lips meet in dazzling reunion, despite it being the first time he’s actually kissed Hypnos, the world falls away. He’s reminded, brightly, of the dreams: of how they kissed, of how they explored each other, of how each and every movement just feels _right._ Of how Hypnos is a part of him, that missing piece found, of how he is the air he breathes and the ground he walks on. Nothing else need exist, it’s just the two of them, and Hypnos’ mouth is an ever willing participant as his hands grip to Zagreus’ shoulders.

Gods, Hypnos is a good head shorter than him and small enough that shades have the gall to call him _‘the Twig.’_ And yet, he holds a terrible, powerful hold over Zagreus. And it is wonderful. 

When they part, practically an eternity later, Hypnos breathes in a stunned inhalation. He leans heavily into Zagreus, and Zagreus, in turn, feels accomplished that he’s turned Hypnos’ legs to mush.

“Wow.” Hypnos breathes. “I must be good if you got that goofy face on.” 

Zagreus laughs, bright as if the sun resides within him. He looks at Hypnos, the latter’s expression content and full of adoration, and he thinks of the dreams. The very, very, intimate dreams. 

His hands glide their way downwards, to settle on Hypnos’ hips. 

“I’m thinking of how I’m going to make my dreams come true.” Zagreus whispers, bringing his head downwards, eyes gleaming.

The shiver that Hypnos gives is intoxicating. He wants, _needs,_ Hypnos to do that again. 

Hypnos licks his lips, and Zagreus cannot resist looking down as he does so. A moist tongue, a precious pair of soft lips, and Zagreus has many, many ideas. “You gonna tell me? I think I’m owed that, yeah?” Hypnos asks.

Zagreus smiles. “Allow me to show my remorse properly. So I’ll do you one better, mate.” He leans forward to whisper in Hypnos’ ear, arm curling around the smaller's waist, edging him closer still. “I’ll show you.” 

  
  


* * *

When Zagreus awakes in his bed, nude except for the tangled covers that persist upon his body, he feels, quite simply, content. When he registers the body of Hypnos behind him, limbs sprawled over him as if Hypnos attempts to climb him as a tree, Zagreus feels fulfilled. He feels Hypnos’ heartbeat, his chest to pressed closely upon his back, and Zagreus listens to its lullaby. It could lull him to sleep, and nearly does so. He sighs, his body reluctant to leave the sanctuary of his bed and of Hypnos. Of Hypnos’ _nude_ body, one he caressed and held and was mesmerized with, with how Hypnos' breaths stuttered, how his skin was wet with sweat, how his lips quivered, when Zagreus pumped into him with increasing thrusts, urging himself deeper still as Hypnos allowed himself to lay limp with arms desperately encircling Zagreus' shoulders for any amount of purchase. What a treat.

But—the Surface exists still. As does his quest. It’s the only thing that _could_ have him leave where he is. Zagreus moves slowly, gently, as to not stir Hypnos, but he should know by now that wouldn’t work.

“You remember when I put the House to sleep?” Comes Hypnos’ voice, soft and slurred from slumber. Zagreus stills, and relaxes. “You said I could get anything I want from you, as payment for my services.” 

Zagreus hums, aborting his initial plan of leaving entirely. He settles once more, moving his body so he may face Hypnos properly. His lover ( _lover!_ ) wears half-lidded eyes, a satisfied smile, and a drowsy face that is easily at peace. 

“Yes.” Zagreus says, because he could never forget such help. “I’m going to assume, because this is the first time you’ve brought it up, that you have request?”

Hypnos smiles. “Stay a little longer.” He curls an arm around Zagreus’ frame. “Please?” 

And, how could Zagreus possibly deny it? He promised he would do anything, Hypnos needed only to ask. Zagreus bringing Hypnos’ body closer is answer enough, and Hypnos snuggles easily up into him, burying his face into his chest. A perfect, wonderful match, and it's the easiest thing. Zagreus lightly strokes at Hypnos’ hair. “Have you ever dreamt of me before, Hypnos?” He asks.

“One time I dreamt about you and you had worms coming out of your head.” Hypnos murmurs, partially muffled by Zagreus’ chest. “But I’m going to guess that isn’t the type of dream you’re referring to.” 

“Not quite.” Zagreus snorts, Hypnos' hair as soft as the cloud rivers of Lethe. “Though, you’ll be sure to further describe that one to me at a later date.”

“Yeah.” Hypnos yawns. “Yeah, of course I’ve dreamed of you. Have you seen yourself? I need some way to entertain myself, you know.” 

“Hmm.” Zagreus’ other hand lazily trails up and down Hypnos’ back, musing internally of how else they could explore each other. They've got all eternity, after all. “We’ll make those dreams come true, too.” 

He feels a smile from Hypnos, and hears it too. “You can make one become true now.” Of course. “You can touch me when I’m asleep, I wouldn’t mind.” _Of course._

“I’ll think about it.” Zagreus laughs, as he feels himself drift to slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Hypnos is described as a "kind, gentle" god, so in this fic that just translates into that he doesn't fight.
> 
> Ra, while prominently shown as masculine (‘Ra’), also has a female form (‘Re’). Anubis too; Anubis - male, Anput - female. 
> 
> Hermanubis, which isn’t a ship name for Hermes/Anubis, but rather the name of a god that resulted when the two fused together because they have similar roles in myth. Hermanubis was popular when the Roman empire had control over Egypt. 
> 
> Hypnos also represents ‘altered states’ ei. Getting high off poppies (which were used as a painkiller) and other plants. In ancient Greece there was a practice of burning hemp seeds and getting high off the resulting vapours. Cannabis isn’t native to the mediterranean (found in south Asia), but the silk road did exist. Zagreus and Hypnos were enjoying hemp in this story.
> 
> Hypnos did trick and put Zeus to sleep not once, but twice, by the behest of Hera. The first time, Zeus woke up in a rampage to find him, but Hypnos was able to escape his wrath by hiding with Nyx. The second time Hera asked, Hypnos was hesitant enough that Hera had to promise him a wife (Pasithea) for him to do it. 
> 
> One ancient Greek tradition/folktale is to throw an apple to whoever you love as a way to declare your feelings for them. Likewise, catching the apple is a way for you to say you reciprocate the love. Apples are one of Aphrodite’s symbols, and were an expensive fruit indicative of wealth.
> 
> Aeschylus is said to have died by having a tortoise dropped on his head by an eagle, as the bird mistook his bald head for a stone. 
> 
> Empedocles is said to have jumped into an active volcano, after declaring himself immortal.
> 
> Somnus is Hypnos’ Roman name. Originally I was gonna have it be called ‘oneirei.’ ‘Oneiroi’ means ‘dreams’ in ancient Greek, and was the collective term for Hypnos’ sons in myth, who included Morpheus, Phobetor, Phantasus and Ikelos. They were the ones responsible for influencing dreams. (speaking of, where’s a fic of Hypnos being a single dad that Zagreus seduces lmaooo?) 
> 
> As far as I understand it, Hypnos doesn’t have an animal to represent him, as many of the Olympian gods do. I chose a bear because they hibernate and that’s, well, sleeping.
> 
> Anyway. Thanatos and Meg are cool and all, but Hypnos is my favourite character and I wish we could smooch him. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. :^)


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